


Evermore

by 60atin3le88, ArwenLalaith



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Once Upon a Time Fusion, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:07:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 39
Words: 39,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25577047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/60atin3le88/pseuds/60atin3le88, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArwenLalaith/pseuds/ArwenLalaith
Summary: Once Upon a Time meets Criminal Minds... Clara Stahlbaum has just turned eighteen when she and her fiance drive into Storybrooke.  She has no idea she's about to awaken a long-dormant curse that's been in motion since the day she was born. Co-written with ArwenLalaith.
Relationships: Derek Morgan/Emily Prentiss, Emily Prentiss/Ian Doyle, Henry LaMontagne/Original Female Character(s), Jennifer "JJ" Jareau/William LaMontagne Jr.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 13





	1. Chapter 1

Emily suddenly doubled over, mid-stride, one hand gripped at the intricately woven damask fabric of Derek’s tunic, the other clutching her belly protectively. She gave a pained whimper and looked up at him with frightened eyes, shining with barely withheld tears.

“What is it?” Derek asked, helping her to sit on the edge of her library window seat. He kneeled down on the cold flagstones in front of her so that he could better meet her eyes. “Emily, are you alright?”

“She’s coming,” she whispered. Her fingers bunched up in the gown draping across the swell of her stomach.

His eyes widened with understanding, his hands covering hers on either side of her belly. “The baby? That’s not possible. She isn’t due.”

“She’s coming,” Emily repeated, “ _Now_.” She grimaced and stiffened with the pain of the contraction.

Derek took several loping strides towards the door onto the corridor. “Penelope!” he shouted. With a fluttering sound, the fairy appeared before him, her pink luminance casting light in the otherwise dark corridor. “We need to get her in the wardrobe,” his tone was urgent and demanding to mask the fear he felt.

“What?” Emily protested sharply, desperately, “No! I’m not ready!”

Derek started to retort, but Penelope interrupted with a trembling voice, “I…I’m afraid the wardrobe isn’t ready just yet, your Highness.”

He turned to look at his wife who stared back, tears in her eyes, a look of absolute devastation on her face, sharing in the understanding of what that meant for their daughter.

...

The first thing their daughter heard upon entering the world, aside from her own screaming, was the sound of alarm bells from the guard turrets and someone shouting, “The curse! The curse is coming!”

“Emily,” Derek murmured, smoothing back her sweat-damp hair and kissing her forehead. “It’s time.”

“Not yet, please,” she begged, “Just a little bit longer…” She pulled the tiny infant tighter against her chest and stroked the girl’s head. She already had the brightest blue eyes and a tuft of brilliant red hair, taking after Derek's mother. She was beautiful and Emily knew she'd never loved anything quite this much.

“Emily…” His tone made it clear he was just as reluctant, just as heart-broken as she was, but he knew it must be done.

“I know,” she whispered, “Just…let me say goodbye.”

He leaned in to rest his forehead against hers and stroked the girl’s forehead as together, they gazed upon the child they’d created together for what might be the last time.

“It’s time,” he repeated softly, kissing her to stop her protests as he gently lifted the baby out of her arms.

“Goodbye,” she whispered as he sprinted out of the bedchambers – baby in one hand, sword in the other – and she was finally forced to accept the fact that her daughter was gone. She let out a heart-rending wail of despair and broke down entirely as she was forced to let her daughter go.

They knew the queen would be coming to gloat over taking away their happy ending as she’d promised on their wedding day. And if the baby wasn’t in the wardrobe when she arrived, the curse would never be broken. She was their only hope.


	2. Chapter 2

_23 Years Later_

“Hey, Jayje,” Emily greeted her best friend, leaning against the counter at the diner. “Two orders of potato and leek soup, one shepherd’s pie, and a chef’s salad.”

“Ooh… Someone’s got a big night planned,” JJ teased. She paused in her work, a plate forgotten in her hand. “Nothing more erotic than shepherd’s pie...”

Emily rolled her eyes. “Ha ha, you’re hilarious,” she muttered. “FYI: I just don’t feel like cooking a big meal for someone who may or may not be home at a reasonable hour.”

She shrugged, letting her friend's sour attitude roll right off her. Behind her, the chef rang the bell that signified an order being ready. “While you’re waiting for your order could you do me a solid?” she begged, putting on her best pleading look.

“What is it?” Emily asked warily. With JJ, a favour was often harmless, but occasionally resulted in minor vandalism (granted, they'd been teenagers when that had happened, but still...).

“You know that big house on the edge of town that everyone says is haunted? Well, the guy that lives there, he’s kind of a hermit and he’s super wealthy, so he pays us to deliver even though we don’t usually do that…and we’re swamped tonight and I can’t leave,” JJ explained in one breath, not giving her the chance to protest.

Emily sighed. “Fine. But I’m keeping the tip. And you owe me big time.”

...

Emily warily knocked on the ornately carved wooden door, occasionally glancing over her shoulder, afraid to turn her back to the jungle of weeds that had overtaken the yard that had presumably once been tidy and manicured, half convinced that she would be eaten by some wild animal living there.

She’d never actually ventured to this side of town – her house, the sheriff’s station where her husband worked, and the library where she volunteered were all on the opposite side, so she’d never had any reason to come here.

She didn’t know much about the house or its owner – no one did, really – there were rumours that it was haunted by spirits of people the owner had killed or some urban legend like that. She didn’t really hold much credence to it, but she couldn’t deny that there was an awfully creepy vibe about the whole place.

She was just on the verge of leaving when the door opened slightly and a hand emerged, gesturing for her to hand her the bag. She was so fixated on the scarred and twisted skin of the hand that she nearly missed the voice, gravelly from disuse, demanding the food.

Snatching the food out of reach, Emily snapped, “Manners!”

The door opened a fraction further and the light that spilled out was blocked by a cloaked figure. An eye stared at her from the shadows cast across the rest of the face, studying her curiously as if she was the first human he’d ever seen.

“You’re not the one they usually send.”

She raised a brow. “That’s because I’m a librarian. I’m guessing you don’t get out that way much.”

He looked a little surprised at her prickliness and she was guessing most people were too afraid of him to speak to him at all, let alone with any sort of an attitude.

It surprised her then, when he gave a slight nod and shrugged. Before she could further comment, he pressed a wad of bills into her hand and slammed the door in her face.

...

“Honey, are you home?” Emily asked the house at large, setting the take-out down on the counter. No reply. She sighed heavily, feeling a twinge of loneliness.

That was the thing about being married to the only law enforcement officer in the town – usually it was a normal nine-to-five, but if something happened, you were home alone for days on end. (Not that anything all that interesting happened with any regularity – mostly it was just drunk and disorderlies, traffic violations, with the occasional teenage shenanigans.)

She paused, glanced at the wedding picture hanging on the wall, wondering what had happened to that young girl who had so much hope – for her life and her marriage... She shook her head. Best not to dwell on that particular wound.

She moved to put the food in the fridge, suddenly not feeling hungry, and contemplated going straight to bed when she heard his footsteps behind her. She stiffened, sensing his mood.

“You’re late,” came her husband’s displeased voice. His hand landed on her hip – not particularly tender, but not punishing either.

She turned and gave him an apologetic grimace, resting her hands on his chest. “I stopped to grab us some dinner and there was a huge back-up at the diner.” She shrugged. “One of the cooks was out sick.”

She wasn’t sure why she found herself lying to him about where she had been. Not that it was technically a lie – she _had_ been waiting on the food – it was more like withholding the full truth. She didn’t make a habit of keeping things from him, but there was something inside her head that told her that her exact location and company was something better kept to herself. At least for the time being.

He stared at her for what felt like ages and she remained determinedly unwavering despite a growing nervousness that he didn’t believe her. It wasn’t that he was abusive or even unkind…he was just extremely protective and distrustful of almost everyone.

Finally, he replied, “You didn’t call. I was worried.”

“I’m sorry, Ian…” she murmured, fiddling flirtatiously with the buttons on his shirt. She glanced up at him through her lashes. “But we’ve got the night to ourselves now and I’d like to make it up to you…”

He tried to remain serious. “Alright, Love…if you feel you must, I suppose I can allow that.”

She laughed softly and stretched to press her lips to his, all thoughts of dinner abandoned as she took his hand, tugging him gently towards the bedroom.


	3. Chapter 3

The motorcycle pulled up to the curb with a dull metallic clunking sound before sputtering into silence.

The driver stepped onto the sidewalk and pulled off her helmet, running a hand through her dishevelled crimson hair. “Damn this piece of junk rust-bucket,” she snapped, aiming a pretend kick at the bike.

Her passenger laughed as he removed his helmet. “Maybe if you didn’t drive like it was a tank…” he joked.

She turned her blue-green eyes on him in a glare that was clearly not amused. “Keep laughing because there’s no way we’ll be in Vegas in time to make our reservation now.”

He shrugged. “It’s _Vegas_ …I somehow doubt there’s a shortage of places to stay.” When her look of annoyance persisted, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and kissed her cheek. “Relax, Clara, I’m sure there’s a mechanic in town who can fix it and we’ll be back on the road in no time. Look, the Sheriff’s station is right across the street; I bet they can give us directions.”

“Fine,” she grumbled. “But I’m still not happy about this.”

...

Waiting rather impatiently for Ian to finish up so they could go for lunch at the diner, Emily sat at one of the four empty desks in the bullpen of the Sheriff’s station.

She wasn’t sure why there were four desks in the station when the entire town had only ever had one law enforcement officer and he used the desk in his office. There were a lot of things about their town that she didn't quite understand...but things were simply the way they had always been and likely always would be.

She chewed one thumbnail, internally debating. At the library earlier, she'd searched through the town's genealogical database for information on the mysterious stranger she'd found herself insatiably curious about, she hadn't had time to read it all, instead downloading it onto a flashdrive she'd tucked in her pocket for later.

The cursor on the computer screen sitting on the desk in front of her blinked enticingly, practically begging her to get out the flashdrive and...

There was a noise from behind her, causing her to jump, thinking it was Ian. Hurriedly shoving the flashdrive back in her pocket, she whirled around to see two strangers entering the station.

“Can I help you?” she asked warily. As long as she'd lived in town, she couldn't remember anyone visiting. Ever. No tourists, no relatives from out of town, no passers-through...

“Is there a mechanic in town that can repair motorcycles?” the young woman asked, looking just as unsure as Emily felt and none too pleased to be there.

Before she could answer, Ian emerged from his office behind her, frowning. “You’re not from around here,” he said coldly. He crossed his arms over his chest, perhaps a little hostile.

“ _Ian_ ,” Emily hissed, shooting him a scolding glare in a silent reminder to mind his manners.

The young man seemed to find Ian's irritation almost humorous. “I’m Henry and this is Clara – we’re just passing through on our way to Vegas,” he offered by way of explanation.

The young woman elbowed him sharply in the ribs. “Henry!” she hissed, “What’s wrong with you? You shouldn’t go around telling complete strangers our names! They could be serial killers or...

Biting down on a smile, Emily interrupted, “The garage is just three blocks down, by the library.” She scribbled something on a scrap of paper and handed it to the young man. “Here’s the number if you need a tow.”

Ian waited until the noise of the bike's engine driving off faded to remark, “I don’t trust them...”

Emily tried not to roll her eyes at his penchant for mistrust and melodrama. “They're harmless kids,” she insisted. “I wouldn't worry about it. Now, can we _please_ go to lunch? I'm starving.”

...

Emily was walking home from her shift at the library that evening when she ran into the young woman from earlier, standing outside the diner smoking with a sullen expression on her face.

Feeling obligated to apologize for Ian's hostility earlier, she approached the girl with an awkward half wave. “Clara, right?”

She nodded, still seeming wary of Emily and her motives. She took another long inhale from her cigarette, exhaling a cloud of smoke into the evening air and watching it float skyward and disappear.

For a moment, Emily watched the tendrils of smoke, feeling the urge to bum a cigarette. (She'd quit years ago at Ian's insistence, but _God_ did she miss it sometimes... Shaking herself back to the present, she murmured, “I’m sorry about my husband. He’s a little suspicious of strangers – we don’t get a lot of tourists around here. None, actually.”

The girl raised a brow and took another drag on her cigarette, but said nothing.

“Were they able to fix your bike?” Emily forged ahead, unsure why she was making the effort to try and start a conversation, only knowing that she felt she must.

At that, the girl gave an annoyed sigh and spoke for the first time. “No. They don’t have the part and they don’t even know if they can get it. We’ll probably just head for the next town tomorrow and hope they’ve got the part there.” She paused, scoffed. “Assuming we don't break down for good before then...”

Emily gave a soft smile. “Well, I’m sure the Inn will be glad to have guests – even just for the night. Their business is mainly husbands in the doghouse. Like mine.” She tipped her a wink as if the two of them were sharing a secret.

The girl made a noise that might’ve been amusement, though it could just as easily have been disinterest. She dropped her cigarette to the ground and dragged it across the pavement with the toe of her brown leather boot.

Sensing her indifference, Emily bade her goodbye, “Good luck getting to Vegas.”

The girl sighed, suddenly feeling bad for not returning the woman’s kindness. “I didn’t catch your name...”


	4. Chapter 4

Emily knocked on the door and waited, picking her nails nervously. (She wasn't sure when she'd developed the habit, only that she'd done it for as long as she could remember...) She wasn't sure why she was so anxious – she had nothing to lose by befriending the mysterious stranger, but at the same time, it felt of the gravest importance that she did.

At her feet sat a bag of books she’d liberated from the library, a thermos of coffee, and her favourite chocolate mousse from the diner.

The door opened suddenly and she nearly stumbled back with the force of it. For a moment, the stranger studied her face as if trying to place her in his memory. “I didn’t order anything,” the gravelly voice remarked harshly after a moment and he started to slam the door in her face.

“Wait!” she yelped, jamming her foot in the doorway, wincing as he attempted to close the door on her foot with a little too much force. “I know...”

He paused briefly. “Know what?” he said cautiously, one brow raised warily.

“About the fire,” she murmured, offering him a sympathetic, but genuine smile. “I searched the library's microfiche for old newspaper articles. Please...I just want to talk to you, to get to know you.”

He looked suspicious, but eventually stood back and opened the door wider. With a slightly nervous expression, she stepped awkwardly into the house, stopping to look in awe at the grand architecture of the building. She didn’t know they even made buildings like this in real life, let alone in Storybrooke.

“What do you know about me?” he asked sharply from behind her, startling her out of her awestruck silence.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to invade your privacy or anything, I was just curious because the other day when we met...” He gave her a look and she realized she was rambling. “Sorry, I tend to do that when I get nervous.” She shrugged sheepishly.

“What do you know?”

“I know there was a fire and no one knows how it started. They found you burned and barely alive. I know you were in a coma for a long time and the doctors didn’t think you’d make it. Then a few months later you checked yourself out of the hospital against their advice. I know ever since then you’ve lived here scarred and angry at the world.”

He stared at her for a long time, then without a word, stomped off deeper into the house until he disappeared from sight and she was left standing there, wondering what exactly was going on. He could be heard clattering around, grumbling to himself, until he reappeared and gruffly shoved a bottle of water into her hands which she accepted, a little afraid of what would happen if she refused.

“What are you doing here?” he asked after she’d taken a sip and smiled gratefully.

“Well,” she stammered, “I brought you some books...” He raised a brow, looking a little unimpressed and underwhelmed. “You know, because I figured you probably don’t get out to the library all that much. I didn't know what kind of books you like to read, so I just picked out a few of my favourites and...” She paused, shook her head at her own rambling. “And I also brought coffee and chocolate, but mostly the books.”

He gestured for her to hand the books to him.

As he sorted through them, she suddenly piped up, “That one’s my favourite! It’s Slaughter-”

He interrupted, “Slaughterhouse Five. I’ve read it. Chapter three is where...”

“Where it starts to get good.” She smiled. “I’m impressed.”

He chuckled – a raspy sound from deep in his throat. “Emily, right?”

“Y-yeah,” she stammered. “How... How did you... I didn't tell you my name.”

“It's a small town,” he said with a shrug as if that answered anything.

“And yet, I've never seen you around,” she pointed out matter-of-factly.

“It's the twenty-first century,” he retorted.

She opened her mouth as if to argue further, but then closed it without saying anything, deciding it didn't really matter how he knew her, only that he did. “It seems you have me at a disadvantage then,” she remarked, “Since you know my name, but I don't know yours.”

“Why?”

She raised a brow at his gruffness. “Because I'd like to know who I'm talking to...”

He eyed her warily, as if debating whether he trusted her enough to give her that most basic of information. He apparently decided her worthy, answering, “Derek.”

“Nice to meet you, Derek,” she greeted with a bright smile, extending a hand for him to shake.

For a few moments, he stared down at her hand as if the gesture were entirely foreign to him. “Is there something you need?” he asked eventually without returning the handshake or the smile.

Withdrawing her hand uselessly, she stumbled over her words, “Umm, well, I guess I was wondering... I mean, it's a beautiful day and, well, I thought that maybe we could go for a walk together? Maybe I could show you where the library is... In case you ever wanted to borrow a book someday and...”

“Oh,” he said flatly, brow furrowing as he narrowed his eyes distrustfully. “I get it now. I know what you're trying to do.”

“Excuse me?” she scoffed, confused and irritated all at once.

“I'm not going to be the town's gossip fodder,” he growled. “I stay here so I won't have to deal with bored housewives like you who need to insert yourselves into someone's life, trying to feel better about yourself and your privilege!”

He advanced on her, seeming to grow larger and more menacing with each step, forcing her to back up towards the door, hand scrambling for the doorknob.

“Derek, no!” Emily cried. “That's not what...”

“I don't need you!” he shouted. “I don't need _anyone_! Leave now and _never_ come back!”

She stumbled through the doorway, out onto the front porch, just in time for him to slam the door in her face, hard enough to rattle the entire structure.


	5. Chapter 5

“I want to see him.”

Derek looked up sharply from where he was bent over the table, examining maps of the Kingdoms in search for some way – some _miracle –_ that might stop her mother and her evil plans. Eyebrows high on his forehead in surprise and consternation, he declared, “No, Emily! Absolutely not!”

“I want to see him!” she repeated, more emphatic than before. One hand rubbed the side of her swollen belly where two tiny feet were pressed into her ribs.

“It isn't safe – he's locked up for a reason. He's too powerful.” He shook his head gravely. He loved his wife and he'd do anything for her, but he wouldn't give her this.

“I need to _know_ – I need to know our baby will be safe,” Emily argued, “He can guarantee it.” She clasped her hands on either side of his face, forcing him to stare into her pleading eyes. “Please...”

Derek rested a hand on her belly, almost as if waiting for a sign. Finally, he sighed and then nodded.

...

“I knew you'd come to see me...” a voice sing-songed from the shadows. Ordinarily, Jason Gideon wasn't one to _sing_ anything. But, as punishment for abusing his magic, the Kingdom's fairies had banded together to use their magic to turn him into a bird.

He could still speak, still see the future, but couldn't use his magic.

The bird fluttered from perch to perch in its massive cage before alighting on the branch closest to them, head cocked to the side to study them curiously. “I know why you're here...”

“Then you know the answer,” Derek stated. It wasn't a question, but a threat. His hand landed protectively on Emily's shoulder, keeping her from approaching any closer.

“I want to hear you _say_ it,” he hissed. “But do come closer, Dearie – I'm getting hard of hearing in my old age.”

“First name your price,” Derek demanded, hand tightening on Emily's shoulder, sensing her impatience.

“Will our baby be safe?” Emily asked, shrugging off Derek's hand and stepping into the pool of light before the cage. “I need your _word_ that sending her away will protect her from the curse.” One hand caressed her belly tenderly, if a little fearfully.

“Ah ah,” he tsked. “First _I_ need something from _you_...”

“Tell us what you want,” Derek called from behind her. “Enough games.”

“Let me go back to my old life,” he begged, “I miss it so. I want to be a _man_ again. I want to use _magic_ again...”

“Absolutely not! You were imprisoned for a reason and I'm not about to unleash your evil back on the Kingdoms, even if it means a promise of my child's safety.”

Gideon shouldn't have been able to smile with a beak, but somehow a wicked grin crossed his avian face. “In that case, I need her name.”

“ _Her_?” Derek repeated skeptically. “There is no _her –_ we're having a boy.” He grabbed for Emily's hand, turning to leave. “He's wasting our time.”

“Princess? Princess!” Gideon called after them as they retreated from the dungeon. “Princess!”

“Don't call her that!” Derek lashed out, rounding on him with fury in his eyes.

“You know I'm right, Dearie,” he insisted, gaze fixed on Emily. “A mother knows...”

Emily's hand landed on Derek's chest, halting his advance. “Derek, wait,” she whispered. She took several cautious steps closer, footfalls echoing through the cavernous dungeon. “Promise me she'll be okay,” she begged.

“She'll be just fine,” he insisted. “Now, tell me what name you'll give your daughter.”

She glanced down at her belly, then over her shoulder to meet Derek's eyes, soft smile playing about her lips. “Clara. Her name is Clara.”

...

Steam from the shower billowed out into the room as Clara stepped out of the bathroom, towel wrapped tightly around her body, combing her long damp locks with her fingers. She moved to rummage in the small duffel bag that contained her meagre possessions in search of pyjamas, then paused, glancing over her shoulder at Henry.

“What are you looking at?” she asked quietly, approaching behind him to look over his shoulder.

He looked up suddenly as if surprised by her presence. “Just some old photographs...” he answered vaguely.

She settled down next to him on the end of the bed, leaning her head on his shoulder, watching as he shuffled through the stack of old pictures of the two of them.

_As a baby, Clara had been adopted by the Stahlbaums – a rich childless couple looking to carry on the family name – and, for four years, she'd been the apple of their eyes and life had been perfect. Then, to everyone's surprise, they conceived a son._

_Fritz quickly became the centre of their world, being their blood heir and only son, and Clara's existence became an afterthought._

_Her parents enrolled her in ballet as a way to keep her occupied and out of their hair while Fritz was a baby, which is where she'd met Henry._

_He was a few years older than her and had grown up in foster care, so he'd never truly belonged anywhere until he'd met her. From that moment on, the two of them knew instantly that they belonged together._

“We look so young...” Clara lamented, looking at the picture of the two of them the first time they'd danced the Sugar Plum Fairy and her Cavalier together.

“We _were_ so young,” Henry agreed. “We were just kids. Hell, we're _still_ kids.” He was right, Clara knew – barely eighteen years old and running away from home together.

Before she could comment, though, there was a knock at the door. She shot Henry a look of wary confusion – no one knew they were here...

“It's probably just housekeeping,” Henry guessed with a shrug. “And you're still wearing a towel,” he added. Clara slipped into the bathroom just as Henry opened the door to see a well-dressed older woman holding a basket of roses and wearing a smile with just a hint of a threat in it. “Can I help you?” he asked.

“I'm Mayor Prentiss,” she said by way of greeting. “I heard we had some guests in town and I just wanted to personally greet you.”

“That's...nice,” Henry said slowly. The words all sounded perfectly pleasant, but there was a distinct air behind them that said they weren't welcome at all.

“I hope you'll enjoy your stay in our little town.”


	6. Chapter 6

“What now?” Clara asked, gritting her back teeth in frustration as she watched through the hotel window as the tow truck drove off with the remains of their motorcycle.

Henry shrugged, even though she couldn't see it with her back turned to him.

“We don't have the money for bus tickets home,” Clara told him, not waiting for a response. “We've barely got money to pay for the room for one more night – we're completely fucked.”

He rolled his eyes. “Don't be so dramatic, babe. We'll figure something out.”

“Like what?” she challenged, turning on her heel to fix him with a skeptical look.

“I guess we'll have to get jobs,” he said simply.

It was Clara's turn to roll her eyes. “Ha ha,” she said sarcastically. “Really funny.”

“I'm _serious_ ,” he insisted. “Just until we save up for bus tickets.” When her expression remained dubious, he pressed, “What other choice do we have? Selling our organs?”

She heaved an irritated sigh, but she had to admit that he _was_ right. It wasn't like they had options here.

Grinning, knowing he'd convinced her, Henry reached over to hook his fingers in her belt loops, pulling her into his chest so he could kiss her. “Since we'll be here for awhile anyways, we might as well just apply for a marriage license here and get hitched. It's no Vegas, but it _is_ a rather scenic little place to tie the knot...”

A shy little smile played about her lips. “I suppose that would be acceptable,” she conceded.

An idea seemed to strike him then. “When we were driving in, I saw a sign advertising children's ballet classes up the road. Maybe they need another teacher,” he suggested. “You should go check it out.”

“I'm terrible with kids,” Clara argued.

“But you love ballet,” he replied.

She couldn't argue with that.

...

The bouncy strains of the _Coppelia_ mazurka faded out as Clara entered the little ballet school, bell tinkling overhead as she pushed the front door open. No one sat at the front desk, presumably the teacher running the class in studio beyond was the only employee.

“Alright now, ladies, let's do _rond de jambes_ ,” came a voice from beyond the door to the first studio and Clara followed the sound, peering through the little window to observe the class. Fifteen or so little girls – no older than ten, if she estimated correctly – stood at the barres in their matching black leotards and pink tights, hair in perfect little ballerina buns.

The teacher had the clean lines and elegant limbs of a lifelong ballerina. She wore a wine coloured leotard with black tights and a gauzy pink dance skirt that fluttered about as she moved, marking the movements she called out.

“Let's start in fifth,” she instructed. “Four _rond de jambes_ to the front. _Plie_ to the front, straighten side, _plie_ to the back. Reverse. _Developpes_ in four counts – front, side, back, side. _Port de bras_ forwards, _port de bras_ back. Balance in _sous-sus_.”

She started the music, then startled Clara by opening the door suddenly, causing her to stumble backwards.

“Can I help you?” the woman asked.

“Oh, I, umm...” she stammered, suddenly feeling awkward and shy. “I was just...” She stopped, shook her head, bolstering her confidence. “I'm new in town and I was wondering if you were looking for another dance teacher?”

“I'm sorry, I don't really have the class size to support another teacher right now...” the woman apologized.

“Please,” Clara begged, “I danced in the corps with the Boston Ballet for three years and...”

“Then what are you doing in Storybrooke?” she asked, perhaps a little distrustfully.

“It's a long story,” she said, “I won't be here for long, I just need to earn some money to buy a bus ticket back to Boston.” She offered a smile she hoped was charming and just a little bit sad.

The woman scraped her teeth across her bottom lip in thought. “I suppose I _could_ use a little help. We're coming up on our year end show and I don't have anything choreographed yet,” she explained.

“I _love_ choreographing,” Clara said, a little over-eager, but genuinely excited all the same.

“I'm Alex,” the woman introduced herself, extending a hand to shake.

...

Clara was leaving the studio, feeling significantly more hopeful about the future, when she collided with someone, knocking them to the ground. “Oh, God! I'm so sorry! Are you okay?” she asked, flustered.

The woman on the ground stood slowly, dusting herself off. “I'll survive.” She brushed her hair away from her face and offered an apologetic smile. “I'm sure it was just as much my fault as yours.”

“Hey, it's you,” Clara said with recognition. She bent down to help pick up the scattered books that had fallen from the woman's arms. “Emily, right?”

“I thought you were long gone,” Emily said by way of answer. “What happened to your big Vegas plans?”

Clara huffed, still rather sour over the whole thing. “Stupid bike crapped out on us,” she muttered. “And we don't have money for bus tickets home, so it looks like we'll be staying here until we can save up for them.”

Emily hummed a note of what might've been curiosity. “Not a lot of people hiring in Storybrooke,” she cautioned.

She gestured over her shoulder at the ballet studio. “I convinced the ballet mistress to hire me as a choreographer for their upcoming performance.” She realized then that she was still holding one of the woman's books hostage in her arms. “ _Welcome to the Monkey House_?” she read skeptically.

Emily's cheeks flushed a little. “I was just dropping it off for a friend. It's our favourite author and I wasn't sure if he'd read this one...” she rambled, unsure why she was opening up to this complete stranger, only knowing that she felt familiar and safe.

Clara offered a faint smile and passed the book back to her. “Well, I hope he likes it.”

She nodded slowly. “Me too...”


	7. Chapter 7

The little bells attached to the door jangled merrily as Henry entered the charming coffee shop – _Jones_ the wooden sign swinging above the door announced – with his laptop tucked under his arm. He ordered a cappuccino and a chocolate croissant from the man working behind the counter, then took a seat at the table closest to the window, overlooking Storybrooke's main street.

For several minutes, he stared vacantly out at the people bustling along the sidewalk outside, his mind clouded with thoughts from another time, another life. His laptop was open before him, cursor flashing on the screen, awaiting the outpouring of words he intended to write but never did.

With a clatter of ceramic against wood, the barista set a mug and a plate on the table before him, startling out of his thoughtful reverie. “If you're wondering what the Wi-Fi password is,” the man spoke, watching as Henry shook himself back to the present and focused again on the screen, “We don't have internet connection in here.”

“Even better,” Henry said. “I could really use a break from the distraction, so I can finally get to work.”

“Let me guess,” the stranger said. “Journalist? Some kind of blogger?”

“An author,” Henry said. “Well. Sort of. So far, all I've done is stare at a blank screen and hoped words would magically appear.” He shrugged then, realizing he was unloading on a perfect stranger, offering a grateful smile and taking a sip of coffee. The man had turned and was about to walk away, when Henry piped up again, “Is this...cinnamon in the coffee?”

“I always add a hint of it to the hot beverages – it's kind of my signature. But I can make a fresh one if you don't...”

He laughed. “I add cinnamon to everything,” he assured, “My fiancee makes fun of me for it, but I've just always done it and never thought to question why.” He flashed his signature dimpled smile. “I'm Henry, by the way,” he offered, reaching out a hand to shake.

“William,” the man greeted, taking the proffered hand. “Everyone calls me Will, though.”

“Nice to meet you, Will.”

“So, what brings you here?” Will asked, settling into the opposite chair, seeing as the cafe was deserted but for the two of them.

“I needed a place to write and something with lots of caffeine and this place seemed to have both,” he explained with a cheeky grin.

He laughed. “I meant, what brings you to Storybrooke?”

“I know,” Henry assured him. “I was just getting tired of being asked that...”

“I'm sure you've figured out by now that strangers aren't exactly a common sight around here,” Will pointed out.

He nodded, sighed. “My fiancee, Clara, and I were on our way to Vegas, but our motorcycle crapped out and stranded us here in Storybrooke, so here we are. At least it will give me some time to work on my novel...assuming I ever find any inspiration.”

“What's your novel about?”

Henry shrugged. “Honestly? I have no clue. This is my first novel and I'm not exactly sure I'm cut out for writing, if the past few months are any indication...”

“Well, Storybrooke isn't exactly known for being a hub of inspiration,” Will informed him. “In fact, it's a rather bleak cultural wastescape, if you ask me.”

“I just need an idea – _any_ idea, really. We need money ASAP.” He let out a nervous laugh, winced at perhaps oversharing. “Do you know if anyone happens to be hiring around here?”

Will shrugged. “Not that I know of. But, if you're not picky, I could use a handyman for the occasional odd job... I can't pay much, but it's something.”

Henry offered a thankful smile. “That would be wonderful. Thank you so much!”

The bells over the door tinkled again and Will stood suddenly, nearly stumbling over himself to greet the person who'd just entered. “Oh, hey, JJ,” he said with a lame attempt at nonchalance.

Henry craned his neck to get a better view of the newcomer who had Will so obviously flustered, his attempt at writing long since forgotten in favour of small town gossip.

The newcomer – JJ, apparently – set down a take-out bag and a to-go cup of coffee on the counter.

“What's this?” Will asked, immediately wincing at how dumb that had sounded.

“Lunch,” JJ replied, playful smile dancing on her lips. When he still seemed dumbfounded, she continued, “Seeing as you've come to the diner for lunch every day for the past...oh, forever, I figured I'd save you the trouble and bring lunch to you.”

“Oh. That's... That's, umm... That's really sweet of you,” he stammered, apparently lost for words.

“I just have one question, though...”

“Anything.”

“You run a cafe. That serves coffee. And sandwiches,” JJ said pointedly. “What's stopping you from eating here? And don't say it's because the diner has better food – I've eaten that food forever, it's really not that special...”

Will shrugged. “I guess it's the view.”

She raised a brow. “Main Street?” she asked skeptically. She seemed about to say more, but faltered, seeing the way Will's eyes focused on her with so much tenderness, so much affection. She cleared her throat, cheeks pinking. “Yeah. I guess the view's alright. Anyway, I've got to get back, but, umm...enjoy your lunch.”

Henry waited until the door clicked shut behind her before turning to Will. “Was that your best attempt at flirting? Because, let me tell you, man...that was sad.”

“What do you know,” he said with a dismissive wave. “You're just a kid.”

“A kid who's engaged,” he countered. “So, how long have you been in love with her?”

Will heaved a wistful sigh. “As long as I can remember.”

“Well, she obviously likes you too,” Henry insisted. “Why don't you just ask her out?”

“Because she'd never go out with a guy like me. Besides, her older sister is incredibly overprotective – she doesn't let any guy get within a hundred feet of her. I've got no chance...” he lamented.

“If you really love her, you wouldn't let that stop you,” Henry said sagely.


	8. Chapter 8

Moving through the empty hallways of her home, Emily hummed the notes to a song she didn't know the name of, but somehow knew the tune as if it was a part of her very being. She wasn't normally one to hum or sing, but the music seemed to burst forth from her lungs independent of her control, like a relic from a lifetime ago. A song older than time itself.

She shucked off her coat, hanging it over the newel post at the bottom of the stairs, the sweater underneath hanging loose, slipping down one shoulder to expose her collarbones. haphazardly, she combed her fingers through her hair, sweeping it up into a messy bun high on her head, a few tendrils escaping to hang freely about her face.

Kicking off her shoes, she she spun a lazy pirouette across the hardwood of the kitchen floor in her stocking feet, catching her balance on the marble countertop when she bobbled the turn, then reaching for the bottle of wine she'd pulled from the wine cabinet.

She knew she probably shouldn't be _glad_ that her husband wasn't home, but sometimes there was something about him that she just couldn't stand to be around... She supposed that probably wasn't a great sign as far as the fate of their marriage was concerned, but she chose instead to focus on the fact that most of the time, she loved him with her whole heart.

Either way, she had the house to herself for the evening and she intended to enjoy the solitude with a glass of red wine and a good book in silence.

With her glass of wine in one hand, book in the other, she moved to flick on the living room lights, only to find Ian sitting in the arm chair with a grave expression on his face.

“Jesus Christ, Ian!” she scolded. Her heart hammered in her chest as his unexpected presence, but she tried not to let the full depth of her start show on her face. “You scared the hell out of me! I thought you weren't here...” She attempted a laugh. “Didn't you hear me call your name when I got home?”

Seemingly ignoring her chatter, he asked, “Did you have a good day, Love?” His tone was strange – eerie, almost. He didn't look at her, instead focusing on the dark amber of the whiskey in his glass as he swilled the liquid around, ice clinking against the sides of the tumbler. He only drank when he was in a _mood_...and she was loathe to discover what it was she'd done that had set him off this time.

“Yeah...” she answered slowly, warily. “I guess.”

“Did you do anything interesting?” he continued his interrogation almost as if disinterested, but with a note of danger underneath.

She shrugged. “Just the usual library business. Went to the diner for lunch.” She wasn't sure why a vague insecurity gnawed at the pit of her stomach as if she were keeping some big secret. She'd told him the truth, afterall. Mostly.

He continued his sullen stare at his liquor, saying nothing.

Taking a few hesitant steps closer until she could reach out to rest a hand on his shoulder in a gesture of idle comfort. “Why so inquisitive tonight?” she asked, attempting levity.

“Can't I be curious about the day of my wife?” he replied.

“Of course. It just seems like there's something you'd like to come out and say. So, why don't you just say it, rather than continue to beat around the bush...” She surprised herself with her boldness, but once the words had hit the air, she refused to take them back, even if she could have.

“Straight to the point, hmm?” he said with a humourless laugh. He paused, sipped his drink. “I was on patrol, out on the edge of town, and I saw you on the porch of the hermit,” he said, almost daring her to deny it.

“Derek isn't a hermit,” she corrected him. It took her a moment to realize the mistake she'd made in using his first name, but by then it was too late to take it back.

Ian hummed a note of something like interest. “You know his name, then?”

She gave a little high-pitched nervous laugh. “Well, in case you forgot, I'm the town librarian and I have access to all the town records, so...”

“What were you doing there?” he interrupted.

“I was making a delivery for JJ. She said he pays them extra to do deliveries, even though they don't usually do that kind of thing and she asked me to do the delivery for her, since it was the lunch rush and...” she rambled, feeling a strange mix of anxiety and anger building inside her, though she couldn't have said why.

“Why would she ask _you_?” he challenged, once again cutting her off.

“Because we're friends!” she snapped, anger winning out.

“You have no friends,” he informed her snidely. “Not JJ and certainly not Derek – who, I don't want you to see again, by the way.”

“You can't tell me what to do,” she scoffed, crossing her arms firmly over her chest in a deliberate show of displeasure.

“I'm your husband and I _forbid_ you from seeing him,” Ian shouted, standing suddenly from his chair, whiskey glass dropping to the floor and shattering as he reached out to wrap his hand around her throat, slamming her into the living room wall.

Coughing and sputtering as she struggled for air, she struggled to loosen his grip so she could breathe again. She couldn't form words, could barely form a thought. Spots danced on the edges of her vision and she knew that it would only be a moment or two before she lost consciousness altogether.

“You _will_ listen to me,” he said, voice strangely calm and devoid of emotion.

Then, just as suddenly as he'd wrapped his fingers around her throat, he released her, letting her fall to the floor in a heap of limbs.

Gasping for breath, she glared up at him. “So help me God, Ian, that will be the last time you ever lay a hand on me...”


	9. Chapter 9

With one hand, Emily drew errant patterns across the surface of the bar with the condensation from her drink, the other hand supporting her chin as if her neck were unable to hold the weight of her head.

Around her the noise of the bar was rather dull and muted – probably because it was the early afternoon on a Tuesday – and anyone who had somehow found their way to a pub in the middle of the week wasn't exactly _broadcasting_ the series of events that had lead them there. She felt a strange sort of kinship with her fellow patrons anyway...a consortium of fellow fuck-ups.

Granted, she tried not to make it a habit to patronize bars at two in the afternoon on a weekday, but she forgave herself in that moment because dwelling on her shitty life choices went down a little smoother with a bottle of beer to chase it down.

“Penny for your thoughts?” a voice spoke up suddenly from beside her.

Head whipping around from where she was staring blankly at the soggy label on her beer, she saw JJ climbing onto the bar stool next to her looking like she'd caught her with her hand in the cookie jar.

“Some librarian you are,” JJ continued teasingly, “Getting plastered in the middle of the day...”

She rolled her eyes, gaze returning to the label as if it were suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. “I'm not _drunk_ ,” she insisted. “This is my first beer.”

“Still... Not exactly sound business practice.”

“Shut up,” she scoffed, but there was no heat behind it. She sighed, indicated to the bartender to fetch JJ a beer as well. “What are you doing here?” she asked at length when the silence had extended on longer than was comfortable.

“I've been looking everywhere for you,” JJ informed her with faux-seriousness. “I thought you might be dead...”

Emily just raised a brow, unimpressed; mostly to distract from the way heat rose up her face at the memory of just how close she'd come to dying last night... Just a minute or two longer with his hand on her throat and Ian could very well have killed her.

“You didn't show up to bring Derek his lunch,” JJ explained, apparently not having noticed the sudden change in Emily's behaviour. “You've showed up at the diner every day for a week, pretending to have time to kill and offering to bring him his lunch – even though it's fifteen minutes out of your way – like it's all some big coincidence.”

“Oh...” she said lamely, cleared her throat. “Well, when you put it like that, I can see how that might seem like...”

“Like you have a big fat school-girl crush on him,” JJ interrupted.

“ _Shhhh_ ,” Emily hissed. “Do you mind? You never know who might be listening...” She gestured vaguely at the other patrons of the bar, none of whom seemed particularly interested in the two women. (Maybe because they didn't want anyone taking particular notice in them.)

She at least had the decency to look chagrined. Then, continuing on in a quieter tone, “If you _don't_ have a crush on him, then why?” When Emily hesitated, she reached over to rest a hand on top of hers in a silent gesture of support. “I'm not going to judge you or anything, I just want to know what's going on in that head of yours...”

When she spoke again, her gaze was unfocused and far away. “Have you ever met someone and felt like somehow, some way, you already know them? Like this familiar ache deep down inside you that extends beyond time, beyond memory, connecting the two of you...maybe from another lifetime entirely, but undeniable and impossible to ignore?”

For a few moments, JJ just stared at her, mouth hanging open slightly. “I'm guessing you aren't talking about Ian...” she whispered eventually. She didn't want to admit that she knew _exactly_ the feeling she was talking about, wasn't sure she was ready to admit to anyone – even her best friend – just how deeply her feelings ran for a man she barely knew, seemingly without explanation, without reason.

Emily shook her head. She didn't need to speak his name for her to know that she meant Derek.

“Em...” She started, stopped, sighed.

“I know, I know, I'm married and I have absolutely no business having weird pit-of-your-stomach feelings for a man I've only met in passing, but I can't control it! He makes me feel... _whole_.”

“As your friend...” JJ tried to offer some pearl of wisdom she wasn't even sure she possessed, then stalled again, shook her head.

“So, we _are_ friends?” Emily couldn't help but interrupt, Ian's words from the night before still ringing in her ears (the truth was, for as long as she could remember she'd never truly felt like she belonged anywhere and hearing it said aloud that she, in fact, _didn't_ belong made it feel like a heavy stone had taken up residence deep inside her).

“Well, of course we are,” JJ insisted, looking at her as if she'd sprouted a second head to have ever doubted that seemingly universal truth. “I think you might be the best friend I have in this entire world.”

Emily let out a breath of relief. “Good,” she confirmed. “Good.”

“What has gotten into you?” she enquired. “You don't seem like yourself...”

Chewing her lip for a moment, she seemed to debate how much of the truth to confide in her – supposed – friend. “I just... I had a fight with Ian,” she confessed. “And, I don't know, I'm not sure I can stay married to him.”

“Oh, Em...” JJ whispered, eyes sombre, sad, but with a fire inside that said she was ready to support her come hell or high water. She leaned in until her shoulder bumped into Emily's and, with a little sigh, Emily leaned the rest of the way until their temples met.

Neither woman said anything. There was nothing to say.


	10. Chapter 10

Emily moved through the library, shutting it down for the evening, all the while keeping one eye on the young girl sat at the lone computer terminal, occasionally scrawling something down in a nearby notebook with a pen she kept hooked behind her ear.

She was the only other person in the library – had been for the last two hours. That was the thing about being the proprietor of a small town library: it was lonely work. Emily appreciated the companionship of having someone else in the building; even if they never spoke to each other, she didn't feel quite so alone.

Besides, she genuinely _liked_ the young woman who'd come clanking into town on her broken-down motorbike a few days ago. There was something about her that made Emily feel a strange sense of fondness in her chest, like she wanted to wrap her in an embrace and never let her go... (That feeling had been surfacing a lot lately and it was unsettling in a way, after what seemed a lifetime of familiarity and sameness.)

“Nervous?” Emily asked as she reshelved books behind the girl. From the corner of her eye, she watched the girl scrolling past page after page of wedding dresses that probably cost a small fortune.

“Hmm?” Clara asked, glancing over her shoulder at Emily. She raised a brow as if unsure what she'd meant by that.

“About getting married,” Emily clarified with a nod towards the computer screen. She hadn't _meant_ to spy on her...but the main library computer automatically kept track of the websites someone visited and some kind of inexplicable maternal instinct had kicked in when she'd seen the girl's browsing history.

Clara's cheeks pinked and she ducked her head away from Emily's gaze like a scolded child, unsure why she felt a strange need to have the woman approve of her choices when she hadn't cared if anyone approved of her in literal years.

Immediately, she began apologizing, feeling like she'd seen something she shouldn't have, “Sorry – I didn't mean to invade your privacy.”

“No, it's okay,” Clara insisted, even if her voice was small and unsure. “I just... I don't have anyone to talk about these things with. Maybe it would be nice to have the wisdom of someone who's been there before.”

Emily tried not to visibly wince, not wanting to let on that her marriage wasn't exactly something she wanted to model her life decisions after... (That wasn't to say it had _all_ been unhappy, but the one time he'd put his hands on her had been one time too many.)

Apparently not having noticed the woman's sudden reticence, Clara continued, “I haven't told anyone that Henry and I are getting married, so I guess it feels a little lonely, you know? It's just...not what I pictured for my wedding day.”

Emily nodded, understanding all too well. Her wedding day had been less than magical – certainly not the kind of wedding she'd dreamed about as a little girl.

Clara must have mistaken her expression for something else, because she quickly rushed to supply, “Well, it's not _all_ bad – I have Henry and that's really all that matters. Even if I get nothing else I dreamed about when I was a kid, I'll still have the husband I dreamed of.”

Emily smiled at the softness in the girl's eyes, that hope for the future that she wasn't sure she'd ever had... “If you wanted...” she started, stumbled over her words, “I mean, if it's not too weird, I could help you out a little? I don't want to horn in on your business, but...”

“That would actually be really great,” Clara said, stopping her rambling. “Henry's busy working on his novel, so I've been trying to find some way to surprise him a little.”

...

Emily guided Clara through the house to the spare bedroom that she'd once thought would make a perfect nursery, but had instead become a storage room. She didn't say that, though. Afterall, she'd only just met the girl.

From under the daybed that had spent the last several years collecting dust, Emily pulled a massive box, it too covered in a fine layer of dust. She could feel Clara's curious eyes on her as she lifted the lid off the box, shifted aside the layer of tissue paper, before pulling out the contents.

“Is that...?” Clara asked, breathless.

“My wedding dress,” Emily supplied for her. It was a beautiful slip of ivory satin, the bodice overlaid with delicate lace that extended down into three-quarter sleeves, adorned with pearl buttons down the spine.

“Oh, Emily,” Clara whispered, “It's gorgeous! I... I can't accept this – it's too much.”

“Please,” Emily insisted. “It's not like I've got any use for it.” Her gaze got far away and she breathed, “Maybe it will bring you better luck than it did me...”

Unsure if she'd been intended to hear that or not, Clara chose not to comment on it, instead asking, “Why? Why are you helping me? I'm a complete stranger and you're letting me borrow your wedding dress – one I could never afford in a million years, by the way. Don't you have a daughter who'd want it?”

“I, umm, I don't...have kids,” Emily said softly, sadly. But she didn't comment further. “Besides, you don't feel like a stranger,” she added. “You feel like...family.”

Clara's cheeks pinked and she let her gaze drift away as a shy smile crossed her lips. It had been a long time since she'd felt anything like family...

She was shaken from her introspection by gentle hands settling something in her hair. Her eyes lifted to Emily's as she placed the veil below the bun she'd pinned her hair into that morning.

As the gauzy lace fluttered down about her shoulders, Emily stepped back to get the full effect, a tender smile blossoming on her lips. After several long moments, she uttered one word – the word choked like it had gotten stuck in her chest, trapped by a lump of emotions neither was sure could be named.

“ _Beautiful_.”


	11. Chapter 11

“You know, when I appointed you Sheriff, I assumed you had the ability to control your wife...”

Ian sighed in irritation, rolled his eyes at the interruption, but plastered on a false smile as he spun in his chair to face the familiar interruption. “Elizabeth, what a lovely surprise,” he deadpanned.

Ignoring his false niceties, Elizabeth pressed on, “Do you _know_ what she's been doing?”

“You know, I really do have quite a lot of work that needs doing, so if you've come here to rant, would you mind terribly getting on with it?” Ian asked pointedly.

Crossing her arms firmly over her chest, lips pursed in an obvious display of her displeasure, Elizabeth snapped, “In fact, I _do_ mind because your laissez-faire attitude is going to ruin _everything_...”

“Well, then, by all means, do continue...”

“She's been visiting _him_!” she hissed. “You know full well what that could mean for everything we've built.”

“So, what would you have me do?” he asked.

“ _Stop_ her! Control your wife! Do whatever it takes to make sure they don't find out the truth!”

...

“Hi Daddy,” Emily greeted softly, settling in the chair next to the man hunched over a puzzle.

She tried to visit her father every week, but it was hard to see him locked up like some kind of animal, drugged to his eyeballs until he was barely himself. Her mother had insisted that he be committed after she said he'd started showing signs of dementia. Emily had fought tooth and nail against it, willing to care for him at home, to do anything to keep him from being locked away, but ultimately, it had been her mother's decision.

(Maybe it was guilt that brought her every week like clockwork, over not having done enough...)

Eyes bleary and confused, the man looked up and, for a moment, he seemed not to recognize her. But only briefly. Then, his face lit up. “Bella!” he greeted, leaning in to kiss her cheeks. “I've missed you!”

“I missed you too, Daddy. How have you been?”

He glanced about suspiciously, ensuring that no nurses were nearby, then gestured for her to hold out her hand. When she did so, he spit several pills into her palm with a mischievous grin.

She sighed, closing her palm around the pills. “Daddy...”

“They're trying to silence me because I know the truth and _she_ doesn't want anyone to know what she's done...” He said the same thing every time she visited.

“ _Who_ , Daddy?”

“The Queen,” he insisted, “She doesn't want anyone to remember who they really are. But _I_ remember. I remember everything.”

She smiled, but it was a smile that said she didn't quite believe.

He must've read it in her face because he dropped the matter, asked, “How's life, Bella? How is that man you married?” (He'd never quite been able to call Ian by his name, had obviously never liked him. Not that Emily could blame him...apparently his paternal instincts had been spot on.)

Emily sighed, eyes shut tight. “He, umm... He hurt me, Daddy.” She told her father everything – things she never told another soul. Because he was _safe_... Anything she said to him, no matter how fucked up, would either remain a secret or be dismissed as the rantings of a mad old man. “I've never seen him so angry – it was like...he was possessed by something _evil_.”

He hummed a note that she couldn't quite decipher.

“I never should have married him,” she continued in a whisper. “I can't even remember falling in love with him in the first place.”

“That's because you didn't...” She raised a brow in question at that. “ _She_ wanted you to be with someone who would control you, keep you from finding your other half, because she knows you can stop her.”

She nodded, smiled, patted his hand. But a thought niggled at the back of her mind, dislodged by his curious words..

“What is it, Bella?” he asked, missing nothing.

“I met someone...” she murmured. “He's that stranger who lives out on the edge of town and never leaves his house. When I first laid eyes on him, it was like I'd known him an entire lifetime – a _thousand_ lifetimes. I can't explain it, but...he's important somehow. Does that sound totally insane?”

“He _is_ important,” he insisted with an encouraging nod. “More than you know. It will all become clear with time. This is only the beginning – you've only just found each other again.”

Emily's brows creased in confusion. “ _Again_?” she repeated. “What do you mean again?”

He just shook his head, sighed, returned to putting pieces into the puzzle. He'd said too much.

Following his lead, she joined him in piecing together the puzzle and changed the subject, “A new girl came to town...” It wasn't particularly interesting gossip – she wasn't even sure why she'd brought it up, other than this feeling inside her that he needed to know for some reason.

He visibly perked up. “She's here?” Something about the way in which he said it, as if gripped by a combination of sadness and hope, made her perk up and pay attention.

If she found his phrasing odd, she ignored it. “Her name's Clara – barely eighteen if I had to guess. Running away from something – or someone – with her boyfriend.”

He nodded, smiled expectantly.

“She matters to me, somehow, for some reason. I barely know her, but I feel like I need to protect her from something... Some _one_...” She let out a shaky breath. “Am I crazy, Daddy? Or just lonely? Desperate to connect with someone, anyone, that I'm imprinting on total strangers like a baby duck...”

“You're not crazy, Bella,” he assured her. “Trust me, I should know,” he added jokingly, gesturing widely at his surroundings.

“Then _what_?” she begged. “What's happening to me?”

Her father smiled. “It's starting,” he said enigmatically.

She smiled indulgently, if sadly.

He reached over, squeezed her hand. “You need to look out now – once _she_ knows, she's going to do everything in her power to ensure you stay under her thumb. Believe me, she'll stop at nothing...”


	12. Chapter 12

Derek frowned at the knock on his door.

No one knocked on his door.

No one except that girl from the diner bringing him his lunch. And, lately, the librarian who inexplicably seemed intent on turning his life upside down. (And, to be honest, he couldn't find it in himself to be all that upset about it, though he'd never admit that to anyone.)

With a growl low in his throat, he threw the door open, fully prepared to send the interloper skittering off like a scared rabbit...only to find a familiar beautiful face staring expectantly at him.

“Oh...” he said lamely, faltering in his prepared anger. “It's you...” He hoped the smile that wanted to break out at the sight of her didn't show on his face, afraid of giving away too much of himself.

“You sound disappointed,” she teased gently, playful smile on her lips, eyes twinkling with mirth.

That seemed to throw him even more off balance – no one was ever _playful_ with him... “It's, umm...” He paused, cleared his throat. “It's not lunch time,” he said lamely, then winced at his lack of eloquence.

“I'm actually here to ask you a favour,” she said, perhaps a little hesitantly, unsure what response to expect from him.

“A favour?” he repeated skeptically. No one had ever asked him a _favour_ before.

She nodded. “I need a rose. Well, not me – _her_ ,” she gestured behind her to where Clara had sort of hidden herself from view.

“Her?” he repeated, if possible more skeptically, eyeing the girl up and down and wondering why the sight of her sent a twinge of familiarity and longing pinging through his chest.

Clara gave a half-hearted wave, but said nothing.

“She's getting married today,” Emily explained for her. She flashed Clara an almost maternal smile over her shoulder.

“And?” Derek asked, not meaning to be gruff, but unable to help himself.

Taking a tentative step forwards, Clara offered him a pleading look as she explained, “Before we started dating, Henry – my fiance – he used to bring me a single rose after every ballet performance because he was too shy to tell me he loved me. And after he finally got the courage to ask me on a date, he would bring me a rose for every anniversary, every special occasion, every holiday...even though we were both poor teenagers.” She shrugged shyly. “I just... I thought it might be nice to have a rose for our wedding too.”

For a long moment, Derek said nothing. He cleared his throat once, twice. Eventually, he gestured for the two of them to follow him into the garden.

...

“What can I get you today?” JJ asked Emily, settling into the booth across from her.

For several moments, Emily seemed to stare off into space, apparently not having heard her.

“Earth to Em?” JJ said, louder this time. “Hello in there?”

“Hmm?” She shook herself back into awareness with an apologetic smile. “Sorry...I guess I'm a little distracted.” She bit down on her smile, trying not to give away too much of herself. “I'll have the usual,” she ordered, handing JJ the menu. “Oh, and a glass of water, please.”

JJ raised a brow. “A glass of water?” she repeated skeptically.

“For the flower...” Emily explained, holding up a single crimson rose.

If possible, JJ's brows arched even higher on her forehead. “Where'd you get that?” she demanded.

Cheeks pinking, Emily's gaze dropped to the flower, no words forthcoming.

Gasping sharply, she hissed, “OMG it's from _him_ , isn't it?”

“I don't know what you're talking about...”

“I know it sure as hell isn't from your husband, so spill,” JJ ordered, settling back in her seat.

With a dramatic sigh, she said, “It's from Derek... Clara – you know, that new girl – wanted a rose for her wedding, so I went with her to ask Derek for one since he has the only roses in town. Then, just as we were about to leave, he handed me this rose...

“He said that his mother planted the roses when he was just a boy and she tended them with love until the day she died. Since then, he's never let anyone touch them, let alone pluck one. But he said this one was the most beautiful bloom and he wanted me to have it.” She shrugged, cheeks the same shade as the flower.

JJ's smile got soft and perhaps a little smug. “That's so sweet,” she declared. “He must really love you.”

“Whatever,” Emily scoffed. “He barely knows me.”

JJ's expression made it clear she didn't even begin to buy that excuse. “Em, that man has lived alone for as long as anyone can remember. He doesn't come out of his house, doesn't speak to anyone. He barely tolerates me and that's only because I bring him his lunch. But you...” She paused, shook her head. “You show up on his porch one day out of the blue and suddenly he's opening up parts of himself he's never shown to anyone. I don't know about you, but that sounds a lot like love to me.”

Trying to resist rolling her eyes, Emily shook her head slowly. “That doesn't change the fact that I have a husband who, by the way, would kill me if he knew I saw Derek today.” She hoped her quivering voice didn't let on how small an exaggeration that was...

“I've said it before and I'll say it again: you need to leave his ass.”

“It's not that easy...” she whispered.

“Em, your happiness has to count for something,” JJ murmured, reaching over to squeeze her hand. “And for as long as I've known you, I don't think you've ever once been happy with him. You can't keep living that way.”

Keeping her gaze fixed firmly on the table so JJ couldn't see the tears sparkling in her eyes, Emily let out a shaky breath, but said nothing.

Understanding perfectly, JJ stood, patted Emily's shoulder. “Just...think about it.”


	13. Chapter 13

“Emily?” Derek said eagerly, throwing open the door. He'd spent all morning pacing in the foyer, waiting for the familiar knock on his door, desperate to see her once again, to quell the growing disquiet in his chest.

“Nope. Sorry,” JJ answered, brow raised at his over-eagerness. “Just me.” She tried not to smile too smugly lest she offend the strange man by revealing that she knew the depths of his true feelings for Emily.

“Where is she?” he demanded, perhaps too aggressively. He snatched the proffered paper bag of food from JJ's hand, making her stutter-step back slightly, not necessarily afraid, but definitely intimidated.

She shrugged, tucked her hands in the pockets of her jeans to hide the slight tremble to them. “No idea. I haven't seen her in almost a week. Maybe she's sick,” she suggested. Truthfully, she was mildly concerned over her friend's absence as well, but she had to assume there was a good reason or she risked letting fear overtake her completely.

“She was fine when I last saw her.”

“Well, this is Storybrooke – she can't have gone far,” she joked weakly, smile even weaker.

Derek glowered at her, fire burning in the depths of his brown eyes. “Don't confuse stillness with safety,” he said cryptically. If anyone knew the reality that bad things could happen in Storybrooke, it was him...

She raised a brow. “What do you think happened to her, then?”

“You'd know better than I,” he challenged. “Who might wish her harm?”

Something Emily had recently said niggled at the back of her mind then. _'That doesn't change the fact that I have a husband who, by the way, would kill me if he knew I saw Derek today.'_ She pursed her lips, suddenly concerned that he might be right afterall...

“What is it?” Derek demanded, reading the sudden realization on her face clear as day. “What's happened? Where is she?”

“I need to go,” she stammered. “But, umm, I'll look into it, okay?”

...

_Emily awoke to the curtains being torn open, bright morning sunlight streaming onto her face. Squinting and trying to shield her eyes from the sudden brightness, she pushed herself to sit up in bed. “Ian?” she asked around a yawn. “Everything alright?”_

“ _No, everything is not fucking alright!” he snapped, tossing a sheaf of paper at her. “What the fuck is this!?”_

_Face awash with confusion, she hesitantly picked up the nearest sheet of paper, eyes scanning the document. She could feel all the blood rushing away from her face as realization settled in her chest. “I... I don't know what this is,” she lied, knowing he wouldn't believe it, but needing to buy herself time to come up with an explanation that wouldn't send him flying off the handle._

“ _Bullshit,” he hissed, eyes narrowed in a downright hostile glare. “Tell me why my so-called loving wife has been researching how to file for divorce...”_

_She didn't have a good explanation for that. Or, rather, an explanation that wouldn't infuriate him. So, she did the only thing left for her to do: get mad at him in return. “What the fuck, Ian! You've been going through my browsing history? I thought you trusted me!”_

“ _I assumed I_ could _trust you...and yet, here's proof that obviously I cannot.”_

“ _You had_ no _right!” she countered, moving through the room, throwing her possessions in a duffel bag._

“ _What the fuck do you think you're doing!?” he demanded, grabbed her upper arm and forcing her to face him._

“ _Packing,” she said matter-of-factly, wresting her arm from his grip. “I'm not going to stay here and let you treat me like a prisoner!”_

_He laughed bitterly, then lashed out, grabbing a fistful of her hair and yanking so that she was forced to her knees. “You have_ no _idea what it's like to be treated like a prisoner,” he said, face inches from hers, voice deadly calm._

“ _Ian, stop!” Emily begged, as he pulled her helplessly along like a ragdoll. “Ian, please!”_

“ _It's time that you learned to respect your husband,” he declared, no longer looking at her. “If you want to be a prisoner so badly, I'll make you one.” With that, he threw open the basement door and tossed her down the steps, slamming the door behind her._

“ _Ian! Ian, you can't do this!” she shouted, banging her fists on the door, but he was no longer listening to her pleas._

...

“You can't do this, Ian!” Emily raged as Ian descended the basement stairs with her breakfast. “You can't keep me here!”

“Seems I can, Love,” he replied. “You are my wife, afterall.”

“I'm not your fucking property because I married you which, by the way, I never should have done!” she shouted. “I should have known you were fucking crazy when my mother introduced us!”

“You seem to be under the impression you had a choice – men weren't exactly lining up to marry you,” he said with a sneer as he set the tray of food in front of her. “You're lucky I took pity on you and married you – your mother warned me you were an ungrateful little brat and she was right.”

“Oh, fuck you!” she snapped. “You're a piece of shit and you don't deserve me!” When he turned to leave, she threw the glass of water at him, the cup shattering against the wall by his head. “Someone is going to notice I'm missing and then you'll rot in jail where you belong, you bastard!”

“No one cares about you but me, Emily. And as soon as you learn that, you're free to go,” he informed her without turning to look at her.

“You're wrong,” she said under her breath. “And I don't care if I have to lynch you myself. I swear to God, Ian, when I get out of here, I'm going to make sure you pay for treating me like this!”

Hearing her muttered protestations clearly, he replied merrily, “ _If_ you get out of here...”


	14. Chapter 14

Emily leaned down in front of the cracked vanity mirror that leaned against one of the basement walls (Ian had broken it one day in a rage and, concerned with what people might think if they saw it, had hidden it down in the basement). She finger-combed her hair, mussing it up to look like she'd just gotten out of bed, the way Ian liked. She wished she had some make up to work with, but he hadn't thought to bring any down when he was bringing her amenities for her foreseeable imprisonment.

She wasn't sure how long she'd been in her makeshift prison, but she knew she had to at least try _something_ to gain her freedom, no matter how unpalatable the method might seem...

The door at the top of the stairs opened and, hearing her husband descend the stairs, she straightened up, unbuttoning the top several buttons on her blouse, and plastering on an eager smile.

The last thing she wanted to do was submit to her husband's will, but if there was one thing she'd perfected over their years of marriage, it was acting the part...

“I've brought your lunch,” he informed her gruffly as he reached the bottom step. If he'd once held any true affection for her, it was no longer apparent in his voice. “I have business to attend to, so I'll be home late. Make your food last 'til then.”

“I was actually hoping you might join me,” she said sweetly. “It's been so long since we've had the chance to have a meal together. Remember the last time we went out to dinner together?” She hoped the last part sounded more seductive and less like she was choking on the words.

He hummed a note that she couldn't quite interpret. “Why the sudden change of heart?” he asked, brow raised with what she hoped was more curiosity than disbelief.

Her gaze flickered down to the floor, then back up to meet his eyes, playing at coyness. “I'm _lonely_...” she said, emphasizing the word to be a double entendre. She took a cautious step forward until she could rest her hand on his chest, fiddling deliberately with the top button on his shirt.

“Tu veux que je te tienne _compagnie_?” he asked pointedly, wrapping his fingers around her wrist to stop her movement and, for a moment, she almost thought he was being tender as his thumb swept along the inside of her wrist.

“J'ai besoin de vous,” she whispered, looking up at him through her lashes.

Then, just as she thought she was getting through to him, he wrenched her arm behind her back, making her fall to her knees as she cried out in pain. “You're a fucking liar,” he hissed. “You think you can get inside my head so easily? Well, I've changed the locks...”

“Ian, _please_!” she begged as he continued twisting her arm. “I'm sorry!”

“You'll be fucking sorry...” he vowed. Releasing her, he stomped back up the stairs, leaving her panting and clutching her shoulder in agony. When he came back down the stairs, he threw a rose at her feet.

“Where did you find that?” she asked in a trembling voice, picking up the flower with tentative fingers.

“The better question is, where did _you_ get it?” He laughed unkindly. “Because it seems to me that you deliberately disobeyed me by seeing _him_ again.”

“It's just a flower,” she insisted. “It means nothing.”

“No, it means _everything_ ,” he retorted. “And since it's so important to you, consider this: either you apologize to me for disobeying me and promise never to see him again before the flower wilts and dies or stay down here until _you_ wither and die.”

...

Traversing the sanitarium corridor, Derek felt like everyone was staring at him, judging him. _You don't belong_ , their eyes seemed to say.

Or, perhaps, they were thinking, _You're one of us_...

He pulled the hood on his jacket further over his face to hide the twisted skin as he entered the common room where most of the patients milled about, staring blankly at the TV or reading outdated magazines. Even so, he could feel everyone's stares as if his reputation preceded him, even here.

Clearing his throat, he announced his presence, “Hello, Mr. Prentiss.” He settled into the seat next to him. “I'm sorry to come here unannounced. I'm...”

“Derek!” he greeted, almost too enthusiastically. “It's you – you've finally come! It's so wonderful to finally see you again!”

“Again?” Derek said slowly, skeptically. “Sir, this is the first time we've met...”

“Have you finally done it?” he continued, reaching over to grip Derek's hand tightly. “Have you succeeded in defeating _her_?”

“Do what, sir?” Derek asked, confused and concerned. “I'm not sure I understand what you're talking about...”

“The Curse, son,” he pressed urgently. “Have you broken it?”

“I'm here about _Emily_ ,” he said deliberately, choosing to ignore that man's seemingly nonsensical ramblings. “Sir, have you seen lately? No one seems to know where she is...”

The older man's face seemed to blanch at that. He gripped Derek's hand even tighter. “You have to find her,” he said urgently. “She's in trouble and you're the only one who can save her. She's always saved you, son, now it's time to repay the favour.”

“I'm afraid I still don't understand...”

“They'll be conspiring to keep you apart, lest you bring down everything they've worked for – the two of you are the only ones who can...”

Derek might've asked further questions, but before he could, a hand landed on his shoulder, startling him. Turning in his chair to see who it was, expecting someone come to stare at the freak, he was confused and perhaps a bit taken aback by the woman staring deep into his eyes as if examining his very soul.

She gripped her fists in his jacket until her fingers turned white. “'Til the last petal falls,” she whispered urgently. “The last petal,” she repeated, “The last petal...”

Before either of them could say anything more, a young man came jogging up, offering an apologetic smile to Derek. “Mom, it's okay,” he soothed the woman, gently prying her fingers from Derek's clothes. “Let's go back to your room, okay?”

“The last petal,” she repeated again as the younger man lead her away.

Emily's father nodded sagely as if he understood perfectly.


	15. Chapter 15

With trembling hands, Emily smoothed the ivory satin of her skirt. (It was still perfectly pressed, the action more to prevent her from biting her nails than any actual need to smooth out any creases.)

She'd been anxiously awaiting the day's arrival for weeks now, but the sun streaming in the castle windows signalling its arrival had brought with it a squalling of nerves in her stomach. Not second thoughts, mind you, but something she couldn't quite name all the same.

A soft knocking on the door to her chambers gave her a start and she whirled around with a rustling of her skirts. The door creaked open and her father peered inside wearing possibly the widest smile she'd ever seen. She gave a small laugh. “Oh, Daddy, it's only you. I thought it might be Derek...”

Her father laughed, shook his head fondly. “Oh, Bella,” he murmured, crossing the room to take his daughter's face in his hands so he could kiss her forehead. “You look so beautiful...” His smile was proud, albeit sad. “How do you feel?”

Adjusting the ornate brocade jacket he wore so she wouldn't have to meet his gaze, she admitted, “I'm...nervous. Well, not nervous. Maybe a little anxious? I guess that's more or less the same thing...” She paused, rethought. “Not anxious,” she amended. “But _eager_.”

He sighed, gently stopped her fidgeting with hands around her wrists. He lead her to the edge of her window seat, tugging her to sit down next to him. “Bella, I know I've asked you this already, but are you absolutely certain this is what you want?”

She heaved a sigh. “Daddy...”

“You need to be certain,” he reiterated. “Because once you're married, it's 'til death. So, I'll ask you again: do you want to marry Derek?”

“Of course, I do, Daddy!” she insisted, the normally tender expression reserved for her father turning quickly into something hostile. “I love him and he loves me! Why would you even ask such a thing?”

He ducked his head from the face of her anger. “I just... I only want what's best for you.”

“Derek _is_ what's best for me,” she vowed. “And if you care for me at all, you won't ask again.” A moment of uneasy silence followed, guilt welling in Emily's chest as she watched her father shrink in on himself. “I'm sorry, Daddy,” she whispered, trying to catch his eye. “I didn't mean to snap at you. I know you're only looking out for me.”

“I know,” he agreed, offering her a faint smile. “I'm sorry for doubting you. You're smarter and stronger and more capable than I ever could have imagined. I know that you'd never let anyone – man or beast – get the best of you.”

She laughed softly. “Cheer up, Daddy,” she begged, “It's my big day. You're supposed to be happy for me.”

“I _am_ ,” he insisted. “But that doesn't mean I'm not sad as well... After today, you'll belong to someone else.”

“I belong to myself and no one else.”

It was his turn to laugh. “You've always been strong-willed. I hope Derek knows what he's getting into...” he teased. He cleared his throat. “Now, let me help you with this veil...”

...

Emily's father sat helplessly as his daughter sobbed into his shoulder, her entire body heaving with each hitching breath. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, rubbing a hand up and down her back as she cried, murmuring soothing words that felt wholly underwhelming.

Finally, she sat back, brushing her tears off her cheeks, swallowing down her sobs so she could fix him with a determined stare. “You have to help me, Daddy,” she begged. “Please...”

He reached over to cup her cheek, wiping away an errant tear with his thumb. “Bella, you know I'd do anything for you, but I don't know that I can be of any use to you in this matter...” He attempted an apologetic smile, but knew it was laughably hollow. “I don't have any magic, I can't stop this curse...”

“Gideon said she'll break it,” she whispered, glancing down at her belly, smoothing the fabric of her gown along the swell of it. “In eighteen years, she'll come back to us...”

“Bella, I'm so sorry,” he murmured. “I can't imagine spending eighteen years without you.”

She sniffled, nodded. “I don't have a choice. What is eighteen years when we have a lifetime?” It was clear that she wanted to believe those words but wasn't sure she did.

He nodded solemnly. “How can I help you?”

She swallowed thickly, tongue flicking out over her lip. “I need you to invent something – something that will guide her back to us. Something that will bring her home when the time is right.”

The gears in his mind visibly started turning and for a moment, he was deep in thought. Then, without warning, he reached over and removed the necklace from around her throat, carrying it over to his workshop table.

She watched anxiously as he pulled a pair of magnifying goggles on and picked up a set of tiny tools – comically undersized in his hands – and began tinkering with the locket. “What are you...?” she started to ask.

She didn't get the chance to finish, though, because a melodic tinkling sound filled the workshop.

She clapped a hand to her mouth, tears filling her eyes once again as the music rang out. “Is that...?”

He looked up at her, still wearing the goggles, making his eyes appear ridiculously oversized. “Your wedding song,” he whispered. “Your daughter will grow up always carrying a part of your love, the love that created her, and one day – when she finds you again – the music will bring the three of you together.”

Emily gave him a watery smile, hand over her heart, saying nothing. Nothing needed to be said.

“I'm sorry,” her father spoke again after a long moment.

Her brows knit together in confusion. “For what, Daddy?”

“For your mother,” he rasped, guilt clawing its way up his throat. “I knew when I married her that there was something rotten in her soul. I should have known...should have stopped her.”

“Oh, Daddy...” she whispered.

“I wouldn't change it, though,” he amended, “Marrying her, I mean. Because without her, I wouldn't have you. You're the one good thing I've done with my life and I'd do it again, for you.”


	16. Chapter 16

No matter how many times they'd tried to convince her to move into the castle with them, Derek's mother insisted on living out on the little homestead she and her husband had built together all those years ago. She said it was where she remembered him the most and she just couldn't bear to leave his memory behind.

Derek couldn't resist indulging her in at least a little extravagance, though, so he'd paid to furnish her farmstead with loyal guard dogs for her flock, a sturdy workhorse to pull her plow, and two royal guards to protect her at all times. No matter how many times she insisted she didn't need any of it.

According to Fran, all she needed was for her son and daughter-in-law to visit more often. And give her a grandbaby. (Every time she said that, Derek rolled his eyes and groaned, then quickly made an excuse to leave the room.)

When Derek knocked on the cottage door, the scent of peach cobbler was already wafting through the open windows and he knew his mother had anticipated their arrival. She wasn't a seer, but she had an innate ability to sense their visits nonetheless.

The door flung open and Fran immediately wrapped Emily in a warm embrace, murmuring how happy she was to see her.

“What am I?” Derek protested, “The dog's breakfast?”

Fran just chuckled as she wrapped her only son in her arms, kissing his cheek. “To what do I owe the presence of my King?” she teased him.

“Can't a son visit his mother without needing a reason?” he asked, ducking to follow her into the cottage.

“He could,” she agreed, “But he rarely does...”

Derek just groaned, turned to Emily with a raised brow. “Do you see what I have to put up with?” he protested.

“I'm sure you deserve it,” she sided with Fran, lowering herself into the rocking chair that his father had carved before Derek was born.

Fran bustled about the cottage, handing each of them a plate of peach cobbler and fresh cream from the cow, chattering merrily with them.

Emily tucked into her dessert with gusto, letting out a contented little moan at the taste. “Nothing the chef prepares can quite hold a candle to your cooking, Mrs. Morgan,” Emily insisted.

“Dear, how many times must I ask you to please call me Fran? Or better yet, Mama...”

“How about Grandma?” Derek interrupted, wearing an eager grin at breaking the news.

Fran whipped around to stare at him incredulously, mouth hanging open slightly. She glanced to Emily who wore a similar smile, one hand resting on her stomach. Then, she turned quickly back to her son. “Is it true?” she asked. “You're finally giving me a grandbaby?”

He nodded, then let out a little 'oomph' as Fran wrapped him in a second bone-crushing hug. Derek just laughed.

...

Fran knocked gently on the door to the nursery, careful not to disturb Emily from her state of deep thoughtfulness.

Four months into Emily's pregnancy, Derek was forced to travel to the neighbouring kingdom on diplomatic business.

He was normally overprotective of Emily, but since she'd told him she was with child, his tendencies had increased ten-fold. (Of course, the Queen's threat hadn't helped anything either.) Which meant that Emily could barely leave her chambers without a guard watching over her, much to her chagrin.

She'd managed to convince him to take the trip (though, just barely), on the condition that his mother stay with her while he was gone. Fran was only too eager to spend time with her daughter-in-law and had readily agreed to keep her company.

“Emily, dear?” Fran murmured, stepping further into the room. “Everything alright?”

Emily looked up suddenly, apparently only just having realized she was there. “Hmm? Oh. Yes. Everything's fine. Just thinking.” One hand stroked absently over her small swell of stomach.

Fran picked her way through the nursery, crowded with gifts for the baby sent by neighbouring royals and well-wishers. “Do you wish to talk about it?” she offered. “I don't want to intrude, but I can tell something has been weighing heavily on your mind of late...”

She chewed her lip in thought for a moment, then heaved a sigh. “I'm having doubts,” she admitted quietly, almost ashamed.

“I thought you were glad to be pregnant,” Fran enquired, concerned.

“Oh, I am!” she readily reassured. “I want this baby more than anything.” She pushed herself to stand from the rocking chair by the window then, slowly pacing the room until she came to the crib, tentatively reaching a hand to tap the glass unicorn mobile that hung above it. “It's _myself_ that I doubt...”

“You're going to be a wonderful mother,” Fran promised her. “Of that, I've no doubts.”

“How can I be?” she asked, turning to fix her mother-in-law with a wide-eyed frightened stare. “How can I be a good mother when I have to send our child away? How can I be a good mother when I won't be her mother at all?”

“Oh, Emily...”

“Tell me!” she demanded, eyes filling with tears. “Please, I'm begging you to tell me how I do this because I don't have a clue! I can't just give birth to her and send her to another world and trust that someone will take care of her...”

“You'll do it because you have to,” Fran answered simply.

Emily didn't appear convinced, though.

“You're a mother,” Fran said simply. “And as a mother, you do whatever it takes to make sure your child is happy and healthy and safe. Even if that means you have to make a sacrifice, even if you have to sacrifice _everything_... Because nothing in the world matters more than that child you're bringing into this world.”

“But how do I know she'll be safe?” she begged. “How do I know she'll be _loved_?”

“You don't,” Fran admitted honestly. “You simply have to have faith.”

“I don't know if I can...”

“But I do,” she murmured. “I have faith. I have enough for the both of us.”


	17. Chapter 17

“Don't you think they've already looked here for clues?” Henry asked, “Seems like the obvious first place to me...”

Clara rolled her eyes, shot him an exasperated look. “Would you quit whining and look?” she demanded.

“I'm just saying,” he continued. “Seems like if the town sheriff's wife were missing, the town sheriff would look for his wife at the place where she volunteers...”

“Assuming he's not the one who caused her to go missing in the first place,” Clara muttered under her breath, just loud enough for Henry to hear.

“You always did have a vivid imagination,” he said.

“Come on, Henry, you met the guy that first day – you can't honestly tell me he didn't creep you the fuck out...”

“Perhaps,” he admitted. “But it's a long reach from creepy to murderer.”

“ _Henry_ ,” she whined petulantly, “Would you _please_ just look!?”

Laughing at her childlike complaining, her kissed her forehead, then began digging through the drawers of the check-out desk. A fine layer of dust had settled over everything, so it seemed unlikely that anyone had been there in at least a week, but perhaps she'd left a hotel brochure or bus schedule or something in one of the drawers.

Clara was wandering between the shelves, fingers tracing along the spines of the books, the library bindings crunching underneath her touch. “Do you really think her husband could have murdered her?” she called over her shoulder to Henry. She had to admit it was a very real fear of hers – something just seemed _off_ about the guy, but she couldn't quite put her finger on what it was.

Emily's words from the day Clara had tried on her wedding dress, still rang in her ears: _“It's not like I've got any use for it. Maybe it will bring you better luck than it did me...”_

At the time, she hadn't asked what she'd meant by that, not wanting to intrude, but now she was wishing she had. Maybe she could have prevented this. Maybe she could have saved her...

She opened her mouth to say something to Henry, but her attention caught on the glittering golden letters embossed on the red leather spine of one of the books. Carefully lifting the book from it's place crowded amongst others not nearly so ornate, a smile crossed her lips.

“Hey, check out this copy of _Beauty and the Beast_ ,” she called to Henry. “It's gotta be really old – I've never seen a copy like it.” She giggled softly. “Remember how much I loved the movie when we were growing up? I watched it basically every single day...until my foster sister got angry with me and broke the video.”

Henry either didn't hear or didn't comment.

She opened the book then, flipping through the pages until she landed on an illustration that made her blood run cold. “Holy _shit_ ,” she said under her breath. “Henry, you _have_ to see this!”

“What?” he said, head popping around the shelf, startling her.

“Jesus, Henry,” she muttered, “You scared the shit out of me...” She shook her head, passed him the book. “Look at this illustration...”

He studied it for a few moments. “Yeah?” he prompted. “So?”

“So, it doesn't look hauntingly familiar to you?” she pressed.

He shrugged. “Not really, no. Why?”

“Look harder!” she insisted. “Are you seriously telling me you've never seen these people before?”

Henry's brows knit as he turned his head to give her a curious look. “Clara, they're drawings...not people.”

“No!” she said, perhaps too loudly. “I don't know how it's possible, but they're almost identical to Emily and that guy that lives on the edge of town...”

Henry's expression became concerned then. “This book is like a hundred years old, how could this _possibly_ bear any resemblance to people alive today?”

Clara tossed her hands up in irritation. “You know what? Nevermind,” she grumbled. “Sometimes, talking to you is like... _argh_!” She folded the book into her chest almost protectively. “Let's keep searching.”

“Yes, ma'am,” he replied with a hint of sarcasm before flashing her his signature bright smile.

Clara glowered momentarily at his irritating attitude before breaking down and blowing him a kiss because she genuinely couldn't stay mad at him.

...

“Hey, babe, do you think...” He trailed off, seeing his spouse sitting cross-legged on the floor surrounded by a spread of open books. “Clara!”

“What?” she asked innocently, looking around, then to him as if trying to work out what was so objectionable about the situation.

“Well, when you said to keep searching, I assumed that referred to both of us, not just me doing all the work while you sit here reading...”

“Honey, I _am_ working!” she insisted. “I'm just testing my theory...” It was clear from Henry's expression that he had serious doubts about her so-called theory, so she took a deep breath, preparing to launch into a long-winded explanation. “Okay, so, I was thinking that maybe someone else – other than Emily – resembled characters from fairytale books. Turns out, there are a _lot_ of similarities. Like, when I say a lot, I mean like everyone in town...”

“Similarities?” he repeated skeptically.

“Yes, _similarities_ ,” she echoed.

“Clara, I know we celebrated our wedding with cheap liquor, but it seems like it's having a bad effect on you,” he tried to tease, but upon seeing the deadly serious look in his wife's eyes, he decided to humour her. “Alright, let's pretend everyone here is a fairytale character. Who does that make us? Cinderella and her Prince Charming?”

“Don't be ridiculous,” she scoffed, “That would be Will and that blonde he's got a major crush on.”

“Right,” he said, obviously full of disbelief.

“You don't believe me,” she said. It wasn't a question.

“What you're asking me to believe...” he said slowly, placatingly. “Clara, it's a little crazy.”

“So, I'm crazy now?” she challenged.

“No, of course not,” he insisted. “I just think you're exhausted and concerned about Emily and probably still a little hungover and you're seeing similarities that just aren't there. But it's okay. We'll go back to the Inn, get a good night's rest and things will make more sense in the morning.”

She pursed her lips, debating whether she wanted to press forward with her belief or to give in to his insistence that she was seeing things. Heaving a sigh, she relented, “Fine.”

But internally, she knew what she'd seen and she wasn't about to give up on her hunch...


	18. Chapter 18

Storybrooke, like most small towns, rolled up the streets when the sun went down. Shops and restaurants locked their doors. People scurried along to their homes. Cars passing by were few and far between. There was no reason to hang about – no nightlife to partake in and far too many nosey neighbours to whisper about your whereabouts come morning.

That night was no different.

Nights were never different. Nothing ever changed in Storybrooke. It was starting to seem like nothing ever would...

Will was wiping up the last few tables inside the cafe distractedly; it seemed like he did everything distractedly these days, his mind always occupied by the one thing that never failed to make him feel like all his brain cells had abandoned him at once: Jennifer Jareau.

He watched as JJ locked up the diner across the street then, instead of returning home, dropped listlessly into one of the seats on the patio. Head resting in her hands, she stared off into the distance, eyes unfocused and bleary. He couldn't help but think she looked preoccupied and maybe even sad.

He wanted to cheer her up or at least lighten the load on her mind, but wasn't entirely certain she'd care to confide in him... It wasn't that they weren't friends – or, at the very least, _friendly_ – it just seemed like there was always something holding JJ back from a deeper connection. (Or, that's what he told himself anyway...)

He decided to take the chance anyway and, with a bottle of amber liquid (that he wasn't exactly licensed to sell) and two glass tumblers, he joined her. “Here, Cher,” he said by way of greeting, pouring her a generous helping of the liquor.

For a moment, she looked surprised by the offer and his sudden presence, but decided not to comment beyond a gentle smile. She clinked her glass against his before tossing back a swig, wincing as it burned its way down her throat.

Will did the same, trying not to seem like he was watching her from the corner of his eye, trying to work out the source of the sadness weighing down her normally cheerful demeanour.

They sat together in silence for a long time, neither willing to break it, at the risk of saying something too bold and giving away something they couldn't take back. Will's momentary boldness had all but faded and he now cursed himself for coming over here without a plan in mind.

JJ was the one to break the ice first, asking quietly, “So, how did you know that I needed this?” she asked, holding up her glass, swirling the liquid about sloppily. “Do I really look that bad?” she added teasingly.

“No!” he rushed to supply, almost too emphatically. “No, not at all. You look beautiful,” he insisted, making her blush prettily. He paused, cleared his throat. “Consider it a peace offering.”

She quirked a brow in question. “Why? We didn't fight...” Then, rethought. “I mean, I don't think we did? Did we?”

Will laughed. “No fight,” he agreed, “But I thought maybe I should have something to offer if I wanted to keep you company and maybe convince you to share what's on your mind...”

She nodded, chewing her lip in thought then. She had to admit, she needed to hear someone else tell her she wasn't crazy or overreacting or imagining things. With a sigh, she confided, “It's Emily... It's been days since I've heard from her and no one else seems to think it's cause for concern, but I know she wouldn't just disappear like this. Am I crazy?”

“You're not crazy,” he assured her. He may not have known much, at least about Emily, but he knew for certain that if JJ was worried, there was cause to be.

...

They were still seated there, talking, as the last of the sun's glow disappeared beyond the horizon, the only light coming from the streetlamps and the little fairylights strung along the patio. In the distance, doves cooed to each other, harmonizing with the crickets chirping in the underbrush.

Feeling emboldened by JJ's closeness and the almost romantic atmosphere, Will was considering throwing caution to the wind and _finally_ asking her out, but JJ spoke up first, sending his resolve skittering about like sparks from a fire, vanishing as the air cooled them.

With a nod of her head, she directed his attention towards Clara and Henry out for an evening walk, arms linked together, Clara's head leaning against his shoulder. “They're so cute,” she remarked. “I can't imagine being married so young, but they just seem like soulmates, don't they?”

Will nodded his agreement. “They really seem certain in their devotion to each other,” he said.

JJ sighed wistfully, watching as the young couple stopped, Henry leaning in for a kiss, whispering something in Clara's ear that made her giggle.

Will watched JJ's expression as she observed them, realization dawning on him. “You're jealous...”

“What?” she exclaimed, cheeks a shade of red this time. “No! I just...”

“You are!” he insisted. “You're jealous of their relationship...”

She huffed, glaring half-heartedly at him, before sighing, relenting. “ _Fine_ ,” she confessed. “I'm jealous... They're so young and they're all cute and in love and it's like the universe is rubbing it in my face that I'll be alone forever!”

“That seems a little melodramatic,” Will insisted. “You're still young, you've got time...”

“Not that young,” she muttered. “It's not like I'm going to find anyone in Storybrooke anyway.”

Then – and he couldn't have said why exactly he did it – he leaned in and kissed her, stemming the tide of her words. For a moment, she seemed startled and perhaps a little confused, but only briefly before she was kissing him back, one hand wrapping around the back of his neck, the other fisting in the fabric of his shirt.

Will couldn't help but smile into the kiss because, for the first time in as long as he could remember, things actually felt _right_.


	19. Chapter 19

_For a beast, Derek had surprisingly soft footfalls – Emily didn't hear his approach until he reached her side and softly spoke, “Is everything alright?”_

“ _Hmm?” she answered absentmindedly. She didn't look up from where she leaned on the railing of the ballroom terrace, staring into the distance._

_Derek didn't say anything, merely resting a gentle paw on her shoulder._

_With a sigh, she insisted, “Everything is just fine.” Then, firmer, “I'm fine.” It wasn't clear whether she was trying to convince him or herself._

“ _Did I do something wrong?” he asked, unfamiliar concern churning his stomach. “Did I step on your feet while we danced?”_

_Emily laughed. “No, your dancing was perfect. I was just admiring the view – it's beautiful...” Her last words bled into an almost wistful tone and understanding started to dawn on Derek._

“ _You can see your father's castle,” he supplied. “You... You miss him.”_

_She couldn't seem to meet his gaze, eyes dropping instead to her hands where she struggled to resist the urge to pick at the neatly manicured edges._

“ _You can tell me the truth,” he urged. “It's okay.”_

_She met his eyes then, as if searching for whether he truly meant his words and, seeming to find an answer there, eventually she nodded. “I miss him very much. I wish I could see him, if only for a moment, just to know he's alright...”_

“ _What if I could give you that?” Derek asked quietly, unsure why the idea gave him a sense of foreboding._

_Emily raised a brow, seemingly unsure what he'd meant, but hopeful nonetheless._

_He sighed. “I have something that may be able to set your heart at ease... Follow me.” Wordlessly, he lead her from the ballroom, across the castle and into the West Wing where she was forbidden from entering._

“ _Derek, I...” she started, faltered, unsure what she wanted to say, only knowing that she felt there was something that needed to be said._

_He didn't let her finish, though. He handed her the mirror, suddenly the one who was unable to make eye contact. “It's a magic mirror,” he said, “It shows you anything – or anyone – you wish to see. All you need to do is ask.”_

“ _Show me my father, please,” Emily instructed the mirror, unsure if she actually expected it to work – she'd grown up in such a small village that magic was still a mystical and mysterious entity, even as she spent all of her time with a man who was obvious proof of the ravages of magic._

_The mirror lit up, glowing bright with glittering blue light, the plain reflective face coming to life with an all too familiar scene. Her father sat hunched over in the armchair nearest the library fireplace – how many hours the two of them had spent in that chair over the course of her childhood, her seated happily on her father's knee as he read to her, she couldn't have possibly counted. He clutched a copy of her favourite book, one finger absentmindedly tracing the golden letters embossed on the cover. Occasionally, his shoulders would heave with an obvious sob. Her mother paced back and forth before the fire and, though she couldn't hear the words, Emily knew the rant all too well – the one that blamed him for everything._

_A sob of her own burst forth in spite of herself. “Oh, Papa!” she cried out. “What have I done...”_

“ _Go!” Derek said abruptly, startling her._

“ _What?” she asked, hardly daring to breathe._

“ _You can leave. Go to your father.”_

“ _Are... Are you saying...” she whispered._

“ _You're free now,” he said gravely. “You're no longer my prisoner.”_

_She opened her mouth as if to say something, perhaps to thank him, but words refused to form. She mustered a smile, even if it was a rather wobbly one, then turned on her heel and picked up her skirts, leaving him behind, blind to the fact that she took his heart with her._

...

The days had started to blur together and Emily had long since lost track of time. She had no idea what day it was or how long she'd been chained up in that damned basement. She spent most of her time sleeping, if for no other reason than it occupied her time and left her wandering mind less room to dwell on the desperate situation in which she'd found herself.

She was half-awake then, when she thought she heard someone calling her name, and immediately assumed that she was dreaming in the nexus between sleep and wake.

She yawned, stretched, listening to the satisfying pop of each vertebra against the next. She wandered over to the little bathroom to splash water on her face, hoping to wake herself up enough that the repeated calling of her name would leave her alone with her hopelessness.

The voice, however, had other ideas, stubbornly persisting.

Finally, daring to hope that maybe someone had finally come for her, she cried out, “Hello? Is someone out there?”

A beat. “Emily?” the voice asked, sounding almost hopeful. “Emily, where are you?”

“Down here!” she shouted. “In the basement!”

Another silence followed, then the sound of the doorknob jiggling and Emily felt her heart beating furiously in her throat.

“It's locked...” the voice called down. Apparently, that was no deterrent, though, because a second later there came a cracking as the door splintered, flung open. “Emily?”

“I'm here!” she rasped, barely managing to speak around the lump of tears that had climbed into her chest. She wasn't sure who she was expecting to be her saviour...but it certainly wasn't the person that descended the stairs then. “Derek?” she whispered, surprised and confused and a thousand different things at once.

It only took him a moment before he was across the room, wrapping her tightly against his chest as if the very notion of being apart from her a single second longer was unfathomable.

Unable to help herself, to hold back her emotions a single second longer, she broke down then, sobbing breathlessly into his chest.

Derek said nothing for several moments, merely letting her cry. Then, he gently pulled back, stroking one hand along her cheek, a faint smile quirking up his lips on the side of his face that wasn't scarred. “It's okay,” he assured, “Everything's going to be okay.”

“How did you... How...” she stammered, trying to figure out what question she wanted answered first.

He shook his head. “There will be time for answers later – we're not out of the woods just yet.”

She nodded insistently. “Ian could be home any moment,” she said gravely. “He'll never let me out of here alive...” She rattled the chain keeping her attached to the bed. “He's got the only key and the chain is unbreakable – I've tried...”

Derek didn't seem deterred, though. He pulled a small pocket knife out of his back pocket, proceeding to pick the lock like he'd been doing it his whole life.

“Where did you learn to do that?” she asked, surprised.

He shrugged. He wasn't entirely sure, the knowledge simply occupying a dark and dusty corner of his memory. Sure enough, the lock sprung open easily under his coaxing. Without a word, he proceeded to lift her into his arms.

“I can walk,” she protested. But he ignored her insistence, carrying her upstairs and out the door.


	20. Chapter 20

Emily stepped out of the shower to find that Derek had left her a fresh towel and one of his T-shirts and a pair of pyjama pants for her to dress in. She smiled softly at the gesture, simple as it was – it had been far too long since she'd been shown the slightest bit of kindness...

She wrapped the towel around herself and stood in front of the mirror trying to decide if the woman staring back at her was one she recognized. She was in the process of finger-combing out the knots in her damp hair when there was a knock on the door.

“Everything okay?” Derek's voice came, almost timid, through the door. “I left some clothes for you... They'll probably be too big, but they're clean and, well, I though that they'd be better than what you've got on...”

“Thank you,” she said. “They're perfect.” She was honestly just glad to be able to change out of the clothes she'd been wearing for the last several weeks, even if the garments hung comically off her frame.

When she emerged from the bathroom, he once again pulled her into his chest, holding her tightly as if not quite able to believe that she was truly there, truly safe. And, in spite of the little voice in the back of her mind, she collapsed into his embrace, holding him back because it was the only human contact she'd had in far too long and his arms felt strong and safe and familiar in a way she couldn't place.

When he released her, he cleared his throat, suddenly seeming embarrassed by his forwardness. “Are you... Are you hungry?” he asked, not quite meeting her eyes. “I don't have anything in my fridge, but I could call the diner and...”

She nodded her agreement. “Actually, I, umm... I have some questions first,” she said quietly.

“Anything,” he agreed readily. He took her hand and gently tugged her to sit on the edge of his bed. “What do you want to know?”

“How did you know I was in trouble?” she asked, almost demanding, eager for answers. “How did you find me?”

For a moment, he struggled to put it into words without giving away too much of himself. “You stopped coming by,” he admitted softly with a little shrug. “Your visits were the highlight of my days and, I guess I'd kind of hoped that they meant something to you as well. When you stopped showing up, I thought maybe you had something better to do...”

“Oh, Derek, no...” she rushed to assure him.

He just shook his head, though, continuing on with the story. “I asked the girl from the diner why you'd stopped coming by and she said she hadn't seen you either. She said she was worried about you, that you might be in trouble. So, I went to see your father...”

“You saw Daddy?” she asked, surprised that he even knew who her father was, let alone that he'd spoken to him. She had a million questions, but now wasn't the time to ask them.

“He wasn't making a lot of sense, but he seemed utterly convinced that you were in grave danger and that I had to save you from someone.”

“That's why you came?”

“That's why I came,” he confirmed with a gentle smile, his hand still wrapped around hers.

Though she still had a thousand questions swirling around her mind, she didn't get the chance to ask them before her stomach let out a plaintive gurgle. Cheeks reddening, she started to apologize.

He refused to accept any apologies, though. “When was the last time you ate?” he asked.

She shrugged, confessed, “I'm not sure – I don't even know what day it is anymore...”

“Right, sorry. That was a dumb question.” He cleared his throat again. “I'll call the diner. Why don't you take a nap? You look exhausted...” Then, realizing that might be taken badly, he rushed to add, “No offence.”

She smiled faintly. “None taken. I just... I don't feel like sleeping.” She didn't need to elaborate for him to understand what she meant by that, all too familiar with the plague of nightmares that surely followed an ordeal such as hers.

He lead her into the living room, apologizing for the state of his house as they went. “I don't really have guests,” he explained, not sure why he cared so much what she thought of him. “Please consider yourself at home here. You'll be safe with me – I won't let any harm come to you.”

She smiled her thanks, but said nothing. She looked like she'd like to believe his assurances, but wasn't entirely certain that she did.

Gesturing to the room, he said, “You can watch TV or read while you wait. I'll leave you alone, but if you need anything, you only have to shout and I'll be there.” Then, softer, barely audible, “Always.”

...

When he came to check on her barely ten minutes later, he found her fast asleep in spite of her insistence that she wouldn't be able to rest. For a few moments, he stood there, leaning against the door frame, taking in the sight of the sleeping woman, looking for all intents and purposes like she belonged there.

He would very much have liked to stand there all day, if only because the sight of her reassured him that she was indeed safe and protected so long as he was near, but was prevented from doing so by the doorbell ringing, distracting him from his vigilance.

When he answered the door, JJ pressed the take out bag into his hands and immediately started on a diatribe. “So, I've been thinking about Emily and I'm wondering if maybe we should call in the State Troopers or something because there's no way that we can charge her husband with kidnapping when he's literally the only police officer for miles and...”

“She's here,” he cut her off.

For a few moments, she stood there, mouth hanging open slightly in surprise. “What?” she said dumbly.

“She's here,” he repeated. “She's alive and safe and she's sleeping right now, but when she wakes up...”

It was his turn to be cut off by a timid sound just over his shoulder. When he turned around, he saw Emily standing just out of view of the door, having been woken by the sound of voices; her eyes were filled with fear as if expecting Ian to come barging in and drag her back to her basement prison.

He offered her a comforting smile, nodding once to reassure her that she needn't be afraid.

With his encouragement, she slowly approached the door and, seeing her best friend standing there, suddenly abandoned her fear, running the last few steps to wrap her arms around JJ's neck.


	21. Chapter 21

“Cheers, ladies!” Garcia declared emphatically over the din of the town's only bar as the bartender passed their drinks around. She smiled her thanks at him as she took her drink, holding it up awaiting the group returning her salute.

“What are we celebrating?” Alex asked, primly sipping her drink as if not quite sold on the whole idea of alcohol.

“It's _girls' night_ ,” Garcia said emphatically as if that were answer enough, seeming utterly confounded by Alex's apparent lack of knowledge on the matter.

“Yeah,” Tara agreed, “The whole point is getting drunk for no reason with your girls.” She clinked her glass against Garcia's. “Is this your first girls' night?”

“Actually, yes...” At the incredulous looks she was getting, she explained, “I started dancing professionally at fourteen, I never had time for getting drunk.”

“Well, consider this on-the-job training,” Kristy declared. “Now drink!”

After a moment of hesitation during which everyone stared expectantly at her, Alex obeyed, taking a greedy swallow, wincing at the liquor burned its way down her throat and settled warm and pleasant in her stomach.

At that moment, Clara came sweeping in, hair distinctively mussed and her shirt buttoned slightly askew. “Sorry I'm late! I was...” She trailed off, cheeks pinking as she suddenly realized how dishevelled she looked.

“Celebrating her honeymoon...” JJ supplied, waggling her brows.

Clara cleared her throat as several members of the group made lewd gestures. “I need a drink,” she declared, grabbing the nearest unclaimed glass and downing its contents. A chorus of laughter followed as she chugged.

“So...” Kate started, smirk crossing her lips as she changed the subject, gaze zeroing in on her target. “Jayje...have you and Will finally hooked up yet?”

“Kate!” JJ yelped, scandalized. “Will and I are just friends...”

Garcia snorted. “Like hell you are! You make googly eyes at him across the street all day long. You're like a cartoon character.”

“I do not make _googly eyes_!” she protested. No one appeared to believe her.

There was a raucous chorus of, “JJ and Will sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G!”

The bartender came sauntering over at that moment wearing his most charming grin. “Ladies,” he said by way of greeting. “Another round?”

“Yes, please!” JJ nearly begged, downing her drink in one swallow. “Make it a double this time.”

“Hey, Luke,” Garcia said, talking over JJ.

“Not you again,” he teased as he collected the empty glasses littering the table.

Garcia pouted playfully. “I'm your favourite customer and you know it.”

“You truly are the best,” he agreed, paused dramatically. “ _Around_...” She gasped as if offended, making him laugh as he departed to get the round of drinks JJ had requested.

“Now who's making googly eyes!?” Tara demanded once he was out of earshot.

...

“Is everything alright?” Alex asked JJ, voice a whisper so they wouldn't be overheard by the rest of the group – assuming they weren't loudly goading each other into taking tequila shots and therefore much too preoccupied to eavesdrop.

Alex had a warm, almost maternal manner about her that made JJ let her guard down in a way she wouldn't ordinarily have done, except perhaps with Emily. “It's fine,” she answered, as she stared moodily into her drink as if it contained some long-searched-for answers.

Alex hummed a sympathetic note. “I can tell your heart's really not in it tonight. Is this because we were teasing you about Will?”

“No,” she insisted. “That was fair game – my crush isn't exactly a secret...”

“Then what is it?”

She shook her head once, twice. “I, umm, I think I need some air,” she declared suddenly, standing up and fleeing the table. In her haste to depart the bar, she nearly barrelled over Clara on her way back from the bathroom.

“What was that about?” Clara asked as she rejoined the group, suddenly silent in the face of JJ's hasty departure.

“I think I must've upset her,” Alex said apologetically.

Garcia shook her head, eyes narrowed almost suspiciously. “No, there's something else going on here...and I'm going to figure out what it is.” That must've sounded almost ominous based on the looks she was getting. “What?” she said, holding up her hands in self-defence. “I meant that I was going to go console her...”

No appeared to believe that either because, if there was one thing everyone knew about Penelope Garcia, it was that she couldn't resist good gossip. That was a risk you took when you were friends with the town reporter, though...

Garcia caught up to JJ where she was pacing the sidewalk just outside the bar, face distorted by the glow of the neon sign proclaiming the bar as _The Bullpen_. “Everything okay, peaches?” she asked. She offered a smile that she hoped was comforting and not creepy in a _'please spill all your secrets so I can write about them for tomorrow's paper'_ kind of way.

JJ looked up sharply as if surprised anyone had come after her. “I'm fine,” she insisted yet again, even if she didn't seem to believe her own words.

“Are you sure?” she pressed. “You know you can always talk to me, right?”

“Of course,” she said, flashing a hollow smile because she wasn't exactly about to pour her heart out to the town reporter. “I just needed some fresh air – you know how stuffy it gets in there...”

“So, you're not mad we were teasing you about Will?”

She shook her head, but said nothing.

“Then is it about Emily? Because I tried to invite her, but when I called her, her phone went straight to voicemail and I know she's your friend, but she's the Sheriff's wife and that guy...” She shook her head, trailing off.

“It's fine!” JJ said yet again, nearly shouting this time. “I'm fine, everything's fine, okay? I just need a moment alone and...”

Her rant was interrupted before she could say anything she'd regret, thankfully, by her phone ringing, the sound shrill in the nighttime quiet.

“Hello?” she answered.

“JJ? It's Derek...”

The smile fell off her face at the sound of his voice. “Derek, what's going on? Is everything alright?”

“I've been arrested...”


	22. Chapter 22

As soon as Derek flung the door open, ready to confront the man on the other side, Ian attempted to push past him, into the house. Like a brick wall, though, Derek was immoveable. “What do you want, Doyle?” he asked gruffly. He deliberately positioned himself so as to block Ian's view of where Emily was attempting to hide.

“That's Sheriff Doyle to you,” Ian corrected.

“What do you want, _Sheriff_ Doyle?” he rephrased, putting as much sarcasm as possible onto the moniker.

“Just here to take back what's mine,” he said, once again trying to force his way inside.

Derek certainly wasn't about to let that happen. “This is private property,” he said, voice carefully level. “And I haven't given you permission to enter.”

“I'm the _Sheriff_ ,” Ian repeated, quickly losing patience and his calm facade.

“Be that as it may, until you show me a warrant, I forbid you from entering,” he maintained. All his time in self-imposed exile had given him a lot of opportunity to read and one of the things he'd studied was local laws.

“Fuck you and your _warrant_ ,” Ian hissed. “You have my wife and I've come to bring her home, so stand aside.”

“She'll never come back with you,” Derek snapped. “She sees you for the monster you are and it'll be a cold day in hell before you see her again.”

From her vantage point behind Derek, Emily could see Ian reach for his gun and felt her heart rise into her throat. She wasn't going to let anyone get hurt on her behalf – she wasn't going to let anyone fight her fight. She stepped into view, placed a hand on Derek's shoulder, silently telling him to stand down.

Derek turned, meeting her eyes questioningly, but she simply nodded once, signalling to him that she'd be okay. That she was strong enough to do this.

“He's right, Ian,” she said firmly. “I've already called a lawyer and I'm filing for a protective order and an emergency divorce.”

Before she could react, Ian was scant inches from her and she flinched as he reached for her cheek, his thumb brushing along the bruise staining her eye socket. “Look at you...” he simpered with false concern, “Look what this beast has done to you.”

She slapped his hand away, taking several stuttering steps out of his reach. “Don't you ever fucking touch me,” she demanded.

Beside her, Derek stared daggers at Ian, but remained silent, knowing Emily had to do this for herself.

“It's okay, Love,” Ian soothed. “I know you're scared, but I'll protect you from this monster.”

“He's not the monster, Ian, _you_ are!”

Ian laughed, not kindly either. “That's just the Stockholm Syndrome talking,” he assured her. “But I won't let him lay another finger on you.” Turning to Derek, he pulled the handcuffs from his pocket and informed him, “Derek Morgan, you're under arrest.”

“On what charges!?” Derek demanded, furious.

“Kidnapping, unlawful imprisonment, and aggravated assault for starters.”

Emily started screaming his name as Ian dragged him to his squad car, frightened tears building in her eyes. “Ian, you can't do this!” she cried. But he wasn't listening anymore. He'd already won.

...

“What the hell happened?” JJ asked, still incredulous over the situation, even as she spoke to Derek through the bars of the jail cell. He'd used his one phone call to speak to her, the only person he could think of that might care that he was being wrongfully imprisoned.

“What do you think happened?” he deadpanned. Almost immediately, he realized he was being cruel and she wasn't the target of his anger. “I'm sorry,” he apologized, “You didn't deserve that. I'm just frustrated because I was the one _helping_ Emily escape from his abuse and none of it matters because he's the fucking _Sheriff_!”

“Walk me through it,” she said. “What exactly happened?”

“He showed up at my door demanding to see Emily and when I wouldn't let him, he accused _me_ of kidnapping her and holding her hostage!”

JJ pursed her lips, paced back and forth in front of his cell. “Well, no one is going to believe that. You're obviously innocent and...”

“Am I?” he pressed.

“What?”

“Is it obvious? Because from where I stand, I'm the mysterious town recluse who never leaves his house and no one has ever really seen or spoken to. The only person that really spoke to me was Emily who delivered food to my house sometimes and then suddenly disappeared without a trace... That sounds pretty guilty to me.”

JJ sighed, hating to admit that he may have been right. “Well, where's Emily? She'll obviously testify on your behalf.”

“I have no idea. Doyle must have her somewhere and who knows what he's doing to her for disobeying him. I'm afraid he'll seriously hurt her,” he whispered, running a hand over the back of his head.

She nodded, chewing her lip. “Well, first thing's first, I'll pay your bail and then we'll find you a lawyer and...”

“No,” he said firmly. “I won't let you do that.”

“It's the only way,” she insisted. “You're the only one brave enough to stand up to Doyle, the only one who can save Emily.”

“Well, where am _I_ going to get a lawyer?” he pressed. “Everyone in this town is afraid of me or probably already thinks I'm guilty...”

“I may have an idea,” she said slowly. “He's retired, but he owes me a favour, so I may be able to convince him...”

“Who?” he asked, intrigued.

“Have you ever heard of David Rossi?”

He furrowed his brows. “I thought he was a divorce lawyer?”

“He was, but before that he practiced criminal law. Not much call for that in Storybrooke, though. He may be your only shot and he doesn't come cheap,” she warned.

“I don't care,” he said firmly. “I don't care if it costs everything I have, if this will prove I'm innocent and help protect Emily, I'll gladly pay it.”


	23. Chapter 23

Emily woke up, head swimming, eyes bleary and unfocused. She attempted to move, intending to touch a hand to the swelling bruise on her cheek, but found herself restrained.

Ian approached behind her almost silently and, but for the unmistakable scent of his cologne, she wouldn't have known he was there. Wordlessly, he moved as if to brush her hair away from her face, but instead wrapped a hand around her throat a threat clear as day, even if he didn't tighten his grip.

“Where's my ring?” he asked at length, tone level, but a demand nonetheless.

“I flushed it,” she answered, swallowing thickly as he removed his hand.

He laughed to himself as if there were anything amusing at all in her response.

She couldn't help the faint nervous laughter that fought its way past her own lips.

“I spent seven years in hell because of that ring...”

She shook her head. “I don't know what you're talking about...” she insisted.

“Don't play dumb with me,” he snapped. “I know you've started to remember...”

Ever since Derek had given her that rose, her world had been turned on its head, memories of another lifetime flitting about her mind, not quite fitting into any sort of linear timeline, but distinctive enough that she _knew_ something wasn't right about her life.

“Is that why you've done all this?” she asked. “Why you locked me up, why you're trying to frame Derek? It's not going to work, you know... You're not going to get away with this.”

Ian backhanded Emily across the face, making her eyes water with pain. “You may have bested me once before, but this is a very different world and there are no fairy godmothers to protect you now...”

From behind her, there came the distinctive metallic click of a switchblade escaping its sheath. She held her breath as the cold metal of the blade slid along her neck.

“Do you know what this is?” he asked, almost pleasantly. “Pure iron... Back home, I couldn't have even smelled the thing without immense pain but...” He chuckled to himself. “Do you know what they did to me in that prison? They branded me with hot iron pokers – not even magic can heal those wounds, those scars will never go away.”

Without further fanfare, he began carving her chest with the tip of the blade with almost surgical precision.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked wearily, struggling to keep the threat of tears out of her voice. “Why are you keeping me alive?”

“I want you to watch as I take away _everything_ you love.”

An errant sob escaped in spite of her best efforts to keep it at bay. “I know what you want...”

“Do you really?” he asked, brow raised skeptically.

“You want things to go back to the way they were, back when we first came here... I can do that.”

“You think that'll save your skin?”

“I have no illusions. But I'm tired of this – of being afraid.” She shook her head slowly, sadly. “If you let Derek go free, I can be the wife I was before. I'll tell him that we can never be together, that I don't love him.”

...

“Here's your slice of red velvet cake,” JJ announced, setting the plate on the table, her sweetest smile firmly in place.

David Rossi stared at the plate for a moment, then glanced up at her, brow raised. “I didn't order that,” he informed her plainly.

“I know,” she agreed, “It's on the house.”

“Why might that be?” he asked, looking rather like he already had an idea of what she was fishing for.

She shrugged. “Because you're my best customer.”

“I'm sure you say that to anyone who tips more than five percent,” he said, glancing back to his files, scrawling something on a legal pad.

JJ rolled her eyes – she had to admit that most people in town were rather shitty tippers. “While I do appreciate the tips,” she admitted, “This has nothing to do with that. Besides, you come in here almost everyday and I happen to know you're an excellent cook, so it can't be for greasy spoon grub...”

He laughed a little at that, unable to argue with that logic. He gestured to the seat across from him, indicating she should join him. “The reason I'm always here is because it's close to my office and if I didn't eat here, I'd be eating a sad sandwich at my desk alone. In spite of the fact that I am, indeed, an _excellent_ cook, when you work eighty plus hours a week, you tend to eat microwave dinners most nights. For a small town, there's a lot of unhappy people, you know?”

For a few moments, she just blinked in surprise at his confession, unsure how to respond.

“That being said,” he continued when she failed to respond, “What do you need, bella?”

“Just a little tiny favour...”

He seemed dubious at that. “Would this cake – which you _know_ is my weakness – happen to have anything to do with this 'little tiny' favour?” he asked.

“Of course not,” she insisted with a high-pitched nervous laugh. “The cake is a peace offering. The bribe is a free lunch...”

He chuckled again. “Ah, I see you know how to bargain. Alright, tell me about this favour...”

“I have this friend,” she started, “Derek Morgan...”

He stroked his beard in thought. “The recluse?”

“Yes, well, he's been falsely arrested and you're the only one who can get the charges dropped,” she explained in one breath before he could shoot her down.

“You know I'm a divorce lawyer, don't you?” he pointed out.

“You didn't always,” she corrected.

“You've done your homework,” he admitted. “Tell me about the case, then.”

She shook her head, nodded to the other patrons of the diner who might be listening in. “Too many ears,” she said. “After the lunch rush, I'll fill you in. But until then, please feel free to stay as long as you like; WIFI is free and coffee is on the house.”

“How about another slice of cake?”


	24. Chapter 24

Ian Doyle ruled over the Black Shamrock much the way he ruled over the village: with an iron fist. It was just an unspoken truth in the village that he was the one in charge and no one was all that keen on challenging him.

It was rather unusual for a member of the Fae to amass such power, but Ian simply wasn't like other Faeries. The myth and the truth of his rise to power had become tangled and interwoven until it was no longer clear which was which, but the one thing that everyone could agree upon was that no one who crossed him lived to tell about it...

Unfortunately, their world was a very small place and word travelled quickly between villages which meant that his reputation preceded him and people willing to challenge him were few and far between. His life had quickly become dull, the only thrill remaining that of hunting rare and mythical creatures to mount upon his wall.

It was late in the evening, but the tavern was packed with villagers as it often was. Ian sat with his back to the crowd, staring into the fireplace as if waiting for the flames to reveal some deep-seated truth to him. No one dared approach and interrupt his thoughtful fugue, lest they bring his ire down upon themselves.

The tavern was noisy with boisterous laughter and slurred drinking songs when suddenly a hush fell over the crowd. The only sound was the distinctive clicking of heels across the wooden floorboards as the cloaked newcomer approached Ian. The patrons seemed to be waiting with bated breath to see what he would do to the intruder.

He didn't need to turn around to know who had come. “Your Majesty,” he greeted as the footsteps came to a stop next to his wingbacked chair. “How very kind of you to deign us with your presence...” His tone was full of sarcasm as he gestured for her to sit in the chair across from him.

For a moment, the Queen studied the chair with disdain on her face as if it had personally wronged her. Eventually, she dusted off the cushion with one lace gloved hand before positioning herself on the very edge of the seat.

Ian watched her obvious discomfort and disgust with mirth playing about his lips. “Perhaps you'd be more comfortable back at your palace,” he suggested airily, “I have always wanted an invitation...”

The Queen's expression was unamused. “Your kind isn't welcome at the Palace,” she said matter-of-factly. Whether she meant Faeries or just him in particular was unclear. “And what I wish to discuss is better suited to your... _rustic_ locale.” She said the words like she'd had to invent an entirely new descriptor to express how extremely unpalatable she found his tavern.

“Then, by all means, continue,” he said with a sweeping gesture of his hands.

“Thank you,” Elizabeth replied, though she appeared none too pleased with his lack of deference. “I'd very much like to get as far from here as quickly as possible.”

“FAHEY!” Ian barked across the tavern before she could continue. “Get the lady an ale!”

Elizabeth's brows furrowed in consternation as Ian's lackey plunked two pints of ale down on the table between them with enough force to slosh the liquid over the sides of the mugs.

“Cheers,” Ian declared, taking a greedy swig of his ale.

She wrinkled her nose in distaste. “If the layer of filth covering every surface in sight is any sort of indictment, I have no intention of inviting upon myself some kind of peasant ailment,” she said, pushing the pint away from her as if it might bite.

“Careful,” Ian warned, “Or I might think you've come to pass judgement and I tend not to help those who look down their nose at me...” He leaned back in his chair, resting his feet upon the table, his arms coming to rest behind his head as he waited expectantly.

Elizabeth pulled from her gown's pocket a black velvet bag, tossing it to Ian who nearly lost his balance as he snatched it out of the air, the distinctive tinkling of coins ringing out as he caught it.

“What's this?” he asked, weighing the bag in his hand.

“Consider it an advance,” the Queen said. “Half now, half upon delivery.”

“And what exactly is it I'll be delivering?” he enquired.

“The head of the Beast.”

His brows shot up his forehead. “Would this be the Beast that kidnapped your daughter?”

“She wasn't kidnapped,” she corrected with a roll of her eyes, “She went _willingly_ in exchange for the freedom of my fool of a husband...”

“So, what's the problem?” he asked, pocketing the coins. “She's happy and you're finally rid of her as you've always wanted.”

She narrowed her eyes and said, tone warning, “I suggest it's _you_ that had best watch your tongue – I am, afterall, your regent and I can have you hanged should it please me.”

“Aye, _your highness_ ,” he said, voice once again dripping with sarcasm.

“I fear she's started to develop feelings for the Beast...” she continued, well aware he was being disingenuous, but still in need of his help.

A sly grin crossed his lips then. “There are other much more _pleasurable_ ways for me to rescue your daughter...”

Ian was a Gancanagh – unlike other Fae, he could produce a toxin in his skin that made him irresistible to any woman upon which he set his sights, making her little more than a puppet in his hands to do with as he pleased until such a time as he grew tired of her. He hadn't ensnared a woman in years, though, as he'd grown tired of getting everything he wanted so easily. But Emily, though... He liked a challenge and Emily was more strong-willed, more tenacious, more independent than any Princess he'd yet heard of. And, if she'd already started to fall for someone else...all the sweeter the victory.

“Don't be a fool,” Elizabeth snapped. “I won't have you tarnishing her reputation with your _abilities_. Simply kill the Beast.”


	25. Chapter 25

“Bella!” Joseph greeted his daughter eagerly, wrapping her in a tight embrace. He kissed her cheek. “I've missed you.”

“I missed you too, Daddy,” she agreed, settling beside him on the couch in the sunroom. “I'm sorry it's been so long since I've come to see you – I've been rather tied up...” She winced at the unintended double meaning.

Her father, though, didn't seem to notice. “You know, that nice young man – Derek – came to see me,” he informed her, almost apropos of nothing. “He seems to really care about you...”

“I know,” she said with a sigh, her smile turning sad. “But I can't see him anymore.”

“What? Why not?” he demanded, seemingly more upset than the situation warranted in her mind.

She sighed, stared down at her hands where she was unconsciously picking at her nails. “I made a promise,” she murmured. “It's for his own good.”

He seemed to want to argue the matter, but she didn't give him the chance.

“I think I'm going crazy, Daddy...” she whispered.

“What makes you say that?”

She glanced over her shoulder to make sure they were alone before whispering, “I'm starting to remember... _things_. It feels like this isn't my life – like I used to have another one, a _better_ one.” She shook her head, tongue flicking out over her top lip.

When Derek had handed her the rose and she'd brought it close to inhale deeply of its scent, Emily had been hit with a barrage of memories from another life. At first, she hadn't understood what was happening, but hearing Ian say that she was _remembering_ had confirmed for her that she wasn't imagining things. Now, though, she needed to hear it from someone she trusted.

“I keep getting these flashes of memories – a castle, a rose... _magic_. I know it sounds completely insane, but it feels _real_. Am I going crazy, Daddy?”

“It doesn't sound crazy to me, Bella,” he assured her. Then, he laughed. “But what do I know? I'm literally a mental patient...”

“Oh, Daddy, no,” she soothed. “You're not...”

He shook his head, squeezed her hand. “I know why I'm here,” was all he said on the matter.

She nodded slowly, thinking on that for a moment. “What do I do now?” she asked. “I can't keep living like this knowing that there's something better out there... How do I make sense of everything? How do I keep living a lie?”

“You're a smart girl,” he said, reaching for her cheek, stroking his thumb along her skin. “You'll put the pieces together. I know you will.”

...

“How was your visit with your father?” Ian enquired, from his armchair where he'd been reading the paper, clearly waiting for her.

He'd allowed her to leave the house as proof that she was seemingly now free from Derek's supposed clutches. She'd known what he was doing, but anything was better than the basement prison she'd spent the last several weeks locked up in.

“Fine,” she said simply. Then, remembering she was supposed to be playing the good little wife, she plastered on a smile. “Shall I start cooking dinner?” she offered.

“Actually, I've got a much better idea...”

The way he said it, the way a smirk curled his lips set her on edge, but she did her best to remain stoic, standing there without reaction like he wasn't making her skin crawl with the way he was looking at her.

Slowly, he stood, approached behind her, one hand coming to rest on her hip.

She knew immediately what his intentions were. “Oh, Ian, I-I don't know...” she stammered, heart hammering in her throat. They hadn't been intimate in over a month, not since things had started to change, little by little, in the sleepy town where everything had remained the same for so very long.

He clicked his tongue scoldingly. “You promised to play the part of the loving, dutiful wife and _this_ is what a loving, dutiful wife does.” His hand slid along her hip and found its target, undoing the button on her jeans. His breath was hot on the back of her neck as he buried his nose in her hair, inhaling deeply.

She swallowed thickly, but nodded. “Okay,” she whispered, afraid of what happened should she refuse.

“Good girl.” He slipped his hand into her panties then, finding her clit with one finger and rubbing it with more pressure than was comfortable or pleasurable.

Her hips bucked and she let out a little whimper in spite of herself. She could feel him getting hard as he pressed up against her back. She sank her teeth into her lip hard enough to draw blood, fighting the urge to retch.

Her new memories had brought with it the realization of how little she truly felt for Ian, his hands on her body bringing a wave of disgust over her.

She gasped sharply as he pushed two fingers inside of her, moving them roughly, making her mewl. She didn't want to react, to respond to his ministrations, but her body seemed to be acting independently of her will.

He brought his lips to her neck almost as if to be tender, but instead bit into her skin, then hissed by her ear, “You're a fucking slut, Emily. And you belong to _me_.” When she failed to respond, he demanded, “I want to hear you say it! You're _mine_ , Emily.”

She nodded, fighting back a sob as she repeated, “I belong to you.”

“And don't you fucking forget it!”

“Ian, _please_ ,” she begged.

Mistaking her pleas for encouragement, he slammed her against the wall, tugging her jeans down. Behind her, she heard the distinctive sound of his zipper, followed by him stroking himself in preparation to enter her.

Before he could, though, she pleaded, “Ian, _stop_!”

He wrapped a hand around to cover her mouth. “Shh, Emily,” he scolded. He once again moved to enter her, but this time, she elbowed him in the gut, sending him stumbling backwards, winded.

She turned, pulling up her jeans. “I'm sorry, Ian, but I can't do this,” she said firmly, glaring at him. “I can't pretend anymore.”

“You'll regret this, Emily,” he vowed. “If it's the last thing I do, I'll make sure of that.”


	26. Chapter 26

A miserable drizzle of rain sprinkled down over Storybrooke. It suited Emily's dismal mood.

Ian hadn't taken kindly to her refusing his advances, but even he had his limits and he didn't force himself on her. But she knew that his forgiving mood wouldn't last long, so she'd waited until he'd left to attend Derek's bail hearing and packed what she could and fled.

For the last week, she'd been living in JJ's spare room, afraid that every knock on the door, every car driving by was Ian come to drag her back to his dungeon.

She'd filed for emergency divorce and a restraining order, but Storybrooke's antiquated legal system meant that it would take a couple of weeks to move through the courts. (Even if they were granted, though, who was going to enforce said restraining order?)

She refused to leave the apartment alone – she didn't trust that Ian wouldn't kidnap her in broad daylight...there was no one who could stop him, he'd already proven that. So, in spite of the fact that she hated having to ask for help, today she was accompanied by Clara as they approached the town's lone law office.

It hadn't been Emily's idea to involve the young girl, but JJ insisted that she was trustworthy and wanted to help. And, for whatever reason, Emily couldn't help but feel that the girl _was_ one of the few people she could genuinely trust...even if she wouldn't be of much use in a physical fight should it come down to it.

As they entered the law office, shaking the rain from their coats, Emily dug some money out of her pocket, handing it to Clara. “Why don't you grab us some lunch?” she suggested. She opened her mouth as if to protest, but Emily insisted, “It's the least I can do to thank you.”

Once she found herself alone in the waiting room, Emily suddenly felt very exposed and she almost wished Clara had stayed. She didn't have long to dwell, though, before David Rossi poked his head out of his office.

“You must be Emily,” he said by way of greeting. He gestured for her to follow him into his office and take a seat.

She nodded. “Yes, we spoke on the phone about...”

“Ah, yes, your divorce,” he finished for her. “I've got your file right here.” (Apparently 'right here' meant somewhere within a pile of what had to be at least twenty files...)

“Actually, I'm here about...” she started to correct.

“Here it is!” he said triumphantly, brandishing the aforementioned file. Seeing her expression, he asked seriously, “Are you having second thoughts? Many people reconsider when they find out how difficult and arduous the divorce process can be, but believe me...”

“God, no,” she interrupted to insist. “But first, I need to talk to you about Derek Morgan.”

His expression became grave. “That's right, you're the victim in his case. I'm afraid I really can't discuss our defense strategy with you, for obvious reasons.”

“I'm not a victim,” she corrected.

“That's a very healthy perspective,” he said. “That's the first step to dealing with the trauma you obviously underwent.”

“What I meant was, I'm not _his_ victim. I thought JJ explained the situation...”

He nodded gravely. “Well, be that as it may, there's an abundance of evidence against him, not to mention the fact that the arresting officer's statement will carry a great weight in front of a jury.”

“You can't believe a word that bastard says!” she snapped, slamming her palms down on the desk. “ _He_ is the one who kidnapped me. _He_ is the one who held me prisoner. _He_ is the one who tried to...” She trailed off, shook her head. “That's not important. Ian Doyle is a lying bastard and he's been manipulating the system this whole time to keep me under his thumb!”

Rossi stroked his beard in thought for a few moments, absorbing what she'd just shouted at him. “And you're willing to testify to this?”

“Absolutely.”

Seeing the fire blazing in her eyes, he nodded. “Alright, walk me through it,” he said, taking a legal pad from his desk.

...

Thanking Rossi, Emily shook his hand. “There is one more thing,” she said, pulling her cheque book from her purse. “I'd like to pay your legal fees on behalf of Derek.”

He raised a brow. “That's very generous of you...” he said slowly as if trying to figure out what her angle was.

“He doesn't deserve this,” was all the explanation she'd offer. “Of course, if he knew, he'd never accept – he's too proud. So, if you could keep this between us...”

He nodded. “Consider it our little secret.”

...

Emily was deep in thought as she and Clara retraced their steps towards JJ's apartment. There was something about the girl that made maternal instincts swell up inside her in ways she couldn't explain, given that she had never been a parent.

“Where did you say you were born again?” Emily blurted out before she knew she was going to speak.

If Clara was taken aback by the sudden question, she didn't show it. She shrugged. “I don't know. All I know is that I was found at the side of the road not far from here. I have no idea why my parents left me on a deserted stretch of highway rather than at a fire station or a hospital or something... I guess I'm lucky I got found at all.”

Emily nodded slowly, solemnly. “I'm sorry,” she murmured.

“Don't be,” Clara insisted. “I got adopted, so I'm one of the lucky ones.”

“I thought you were running away from your parents?”

She pursed her lips in thought. “Technically, I don't think it counts as running away if you're eighteen. And besides, I didn't say they were _good_ parents, just that I'm lucky to have them instead of a series of shitty foster parents.” Again, she shrugged. “That sounds bitter, but I'm really not. I'm sure my parents did the best they could...”


	27. Chapter 27

As part of the case they were mounting against Ian, Rossi had suggested that Emily go to the hospital and have her injuries examined and her bruises photographed. (It had taken some convincing, considering how deeply secretive she was and how reluctant to be seen as a victim, but knowing that it would help Derek had eventually broken through her stubbornness.)

The nurse knocked on the door, poked her head into the exam room. “How are you today, Dear?” she asked with a warm smile.

“Been better,” Emily admitted. She shrugged, crinkling the paper gown she was wearing.

The nurse offered her a warm smile. “My name is Fran – I'll be doing the exam,” she introduced herself. “I know this can be an uncomfortable procedure, but you're safe here. If at any time you need a moment to yourself, please just let me know.”

Emily nodded, but the words did nothing to ease her anxiety.

...

Fran was photographing the ligature marks around her wrists and chattering away in an effort to distract Emily, which she appreciated as she was really in no mood to discuss anything or even make polite small talk.

“Years ago, I used to work on the burn unit,” Fran told her. “We don't have many serious burn incidents in Storybrooke, of course, mostly just the occasional teenager playing with matches. But there was one case I'll never forget...”

Emily perked up at that and, before she knew she was going to speak, she asked, “You treated Derek Morgan?”

“Are you a friend of Derek?” Fran asked, moving from idle chatter to genuine curiosity, interest piqued.

She shrugged, not entirely sure how to classify their relationship. “I guess you could call us that,” she conceded. “Why?”

“Because of the serious natures of his injuries, he comes in for yearly appointments to assess the skin, get physical and occupational therapy, and to get botox treatments for spasticity. But two days ago, he failed to show up, which is very unlike him. He's not a big fan of hospitals, but he's never missed an appointment before...” She shook her head slowly, almost sadly. “I tried calling him, but he didn't answer and when I stopped by his house yesterday, he wasn't there. I'm starting to get worried....”

Emily felt her stomach plunge. “I, umm, I may know why he didn't attend his appointment,” she stammered, suddenly wracked by guilt.

Setting down the camera, Fran asked, “What's wrong, Dear?”

She heaved a heavy sigh, chewed her lip for a moment, debating the best way to break the news. “Derek, he's... He's...” She winced, blurted out, “He's in jail.”

“Jail?” Fran repeated skeptically. “Oh, there must be some mistake... Derek, he's a little curmudgeonly, but he's got a good heart. He would never do something that would warrant being _arrested_.”

“Believe me, I know,” Emily insisted. “And it _is_ a mistake. Actually, it's... Well, it's _my_ fault he was arrested...” She felt tears well in her eyes, in spite of herself.

“Oh, honey, I'm sure that's not true...” Fran attempted to reassure her, even though she barely knew the woman.

“It is, though. He was only trying to help me and _this_ is the thanks he gets.” She let out a shaky breath. “But I promise you, I'm doing my best to get his name cleared and I won't stop until I do,” she vowed. “Which, I guess, is part of why I'm here.”

Fran nodded, offered a smile. “You're very brave.”

A thought occurred to Emily then. “If you want to see him, the Sheriff legally cannot deny him necessary medical care,” she suggested. “I could take you to him.”

“That's an excellent idea. But first, we should get you down to X-ray – I suspect you may have a few broken ribs.”

She was about to protest that broken ribs weren't anything she couldn't handle, before remembering this was for _Derek_...

...

“Hello?” Emily called out, stepping cautiously into the Sheriff's station, rather hoping not to come face-to-face with her soon to be ex-husband. “Is anyone here?”

There was no answer.

“Derek?” she asked the quiet emptiness. “Derek, it's me...”

She and Fran stepped fully into the station then, coming to a stutter stop as they found the jail empty, the door to Derek's cell hanging open.

“I'm guessing the Sheriff didn't suddenly have a change of heart?” Fran asked quietly.

“The Sheriff doesn't _have_ a heart,” Emily muttered, just loud enough for Fran to hear. “ _Fuck_ ,” she hissed then. “This is _bad_...”

“Where could he have gone?” Fran asked.

“I don't know...but if the Sheriff finds him, it isn't going to end well.” She dialled JJ, unsure what she thought her friend could do, but needing to talk to her anyway.

“Em, oh, thank God!” JJ said by way of answering the call.

Emily's brows knit in confusion and concern. “Is everything okay?”

“No!” she nearly shouted into the phone. “Ian was just in here – he said Derek had _escaped_... He whipped everyone into a righteous frenzy, they're on their way to search for him.” She let out a trembling breath that sounded a lot like a frightened sob. “Em, if they find him, I think they're going to lynch him...”


	28. Chapter 28

“Where would Ian take Derek?” JJ asked.

Emily paced back and forth in the empty living room of what used to be her home. It was the first place she'd thought to look, but the house had been deserted. “I don't know!” she snapped. “He never told me anything. For all I know, he could've left Storybrooke with him...”

JJ shook her head. “From what you've told me, he would want to be somewhere he can control, somewhere familiar. He wouldn't risk taking him outside the town line where he runs the risk of him escaping.”

That made a lot of sense, but it didn't make her feel any better. “He basically runs the town,” Emily pointed out, “He could be anywhere.”

...

“You couldn't have just left well enough alone, could you?” Ian asked, almost conversationally. He leaned back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, watching Derek with something like curiosity. “You just had to stick your nose where it wasn't wanted. I had everything under control, everything just the way I wanted, and then _you_ showed up.”

Derek failed to react. Failed to even look at him. He just remained stoically silent, staring straight ahead.

“Did you honestly think she'd want _you_ when she has someone like me?” Ian asked, scoffed.

Still no reaction.

“You filled her head with _ideas_ , though. _Memories_...” He barked out a laugh. “You didn't know they were real memories, though, did you? You had no idea you were waking her up.”

Interest piqued, Derek sorely wanted to know what exactly he'd meant by that. But he refused to give him the satisfaction, refused to play into his sick mind games. He wasn't going to give him the reaction he was looking for.

When his remark failed to elicit the desired response, Ian glowered. Well, if that's the way he wanted to play it...he was more than happy to oblige.

He pulled what appeared to an ice pick out of a black velvet bag. “You have no idea what I've had to do to create this,” Ian informed Derek, running his fingers almost reverently along its surface. “I used the last drop of magic I had to make a weapon perfectly suited to a beast like you. Cut from the heart wood of a black oak, I had to cure it in my own blood, then hang it out to dry in the light of a full moon.”

Then, without warning, he thrust the weapon into Derek's chest. As it made contact with his flesh, the wound started smoking horribly, the pain a blinding burning sensation.

...

Emily stumbled backwards slightly in surprise as the door to her mother's palatial mansion swung open in the midst of her instant knocking.

Her mother looked none too pleased at the disturbance (though, that might've just been her natural facial expression). “Why on Earth are you making such a damned racket?” Elizabeth asked with false politeness, even as she opened the door further to let Emily inside lest she continue on with her knocking and garner the attention of the neighbours.

“As if you didn't know,” Emily muttered, just loud enough for her mother to hear.

“If you have something to say, Emily, come out and say it...”

She whirled around, ready to give her mother _exactly_ what she'd asked for. “Where is he!?” she demanded, in spite of having promised herself to retain a calm and level head. “Where the fuck did Ian take him?”

Elizabeth heaved a sigh, clicked her tongue. “Mind your manners, Emily,” she scolded as if she were four years old again. (Though, that would imply that her mother had put forth any effort at all in raising her, rather than passing her off to nannies and tutors whenever her presence wasn't convenient.)

“I'm a grown woman, Mother,” Emily reminded her, “And my choices in vernacular are really the least of your worries right now.”

“And what, pray tell, do you mean by that?”

“Derek's life in in danger!” she snapped. “And if he dies, I swear to God, I'll find a way to hold you responsible for his death...”

Elizabeth's expression morphed into one of surprise, or at least a very good facsimile of it. “I have no idea what you're talking about.”

Emily rolled her eyes, not buying for a single second that her mother wasn't the brains behind all of this. “Ian took Derek God knows where and is doing God knows what to him – if I don't find him soon, it could be too late.”

Elizabeth moved to the little bar cart that rested against one wall of the foyer and poured herself a glass of cider. “I really don't know how you expect me to help you in this rescue endeavour of yours... Perhaps you should try calling the Sheriff,” she added, a cruel and knowing jab.

“Don't pretend that you're not behind _all_ of this,” she accused. “Don't act like you're not Ian's puppet master – did you tell him to lock me in the basement too or was that his own bright idea?”

“Emily!” she gasped as if scandalized. “I won't have you stand here and _accuse_ me like this.”

“Don't you care at all? Don't you give one single damn that an innocent man is going to _die_ because he tried to help me?” she asked desperately, nearly begging.

Elizabeth turned back to Emily, giving her a simpering smile. “Perhaps if he'd simply kept his nose out of your marital affairs, he wouldn't be in this position...”

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

She shrugged, almost airily, the ice in her glass clinking. “I think you know exactly what it means, Dear. Your marriage was fine until that _Beast_ came along and ruined everything.”

“It was _not_ fine! Being controlled is not fine – being mentally and emotionally abused is not fine! Maybe I didn't see it before, but I see everything clearly now. Maybe you're not going to help me, but that's not about to stop me from putting things right...”


	29. Chapter 29

Ian was chained from the ceiling of the dingy stone chamber with iron manacles fastened about his wrists, burning at the flesh beneath.

“Either kill me or cut me down!” he spit at his captor. “But you can't keep me here forever!”

His captor laughed, deep and throaty. “Can't I?”

“What do you want from me? The deed is done, you've already lost...”

The next second, his captor's face was scant inches from his own. “If I've lost, it's because _you_ failed!” Then, as punishment for his insolence, the flat of an iron blade traced along his cheek and down his neck, leaving a trail of angry red welts.

Ian flinched away from the sizzling sound of iron against his Faerie flesh. “I'll make you pay for this, bitch...” he vowed.

“You dare speak that way to your Queen?” Elizabeth asked haughtily, pulling down the hood of her cloak and stepping into the faint hint of light spilling in the barred window.

“What are you going to do? Torture me?” he asked sarcastically, seeing as he was already a prisoner in her torture chamber.

Elizabeth's dark eyes flickered dangerously. “I can make your life a living hell, Doyle,” she informed him, “Or I can show you mercy...if you give me a reason.”

He scoffed. “If the stories of your so-called mercy are to be believed, I highly doubt I want it.”

“I grow tired of your insolence,” she snapped, then thrust the iron blade into his stomach, making him cry out in pain, both from the wound and the bite of iron.

For a few moments, he could do nothing but stare as if in disbelief at the blood trickling down his torso to drip on the flagstone floor.

“Your life means less than nothing to me,” Elizabeth informed him. “The only reason I haven't killed you yet is because something about you _amuses_ me.”

“If you let me down, I'll practice my curtsey...” he deadpanned.

Elizabeth approached and Ian winced in anticipation of the iron blade being thrust into his stomach again, but instead, she took the key from the inside pocked of her cloak and reached as if to unlock his manacles.

Before she did, though, she paused, stepped back, a thoughtful expression twisting the cruel red lips.

“The question remains, though...” she spoke, twisting the key about her finger. “Why in God's name would I trust you a second time? I placed my trust in you once and you managed to fail spectacularly – you had one task, a _simple_ task for an acclaimed hunter such as yourself – and you couldn't even kill one little beast...”

She turned to stare out the cell's lone window, cloak whipping around behind her. The sound of far off trumpets could be heard, if barely, announcing the Kingdom's celebrations.

“Do you hear that?” she asked. “They announce the nuptials of my daughter to the beast you _assured_ me you could kill – with one shot, at that. Today, she's _married_ to him! My daughter, wedded to a _beast_!”

Ian rolled his eyes at her histrionics – afterall, he was already being tortured, a little insolence wouldn't go amiss. “How many fucking times must we go through this?” he asked, almost as if bored. “I would have had his head on my wall, if it weren't for your daughter getting in the way...”

“If you're intending to ingratiate yourself into my good graces, you're failing,” she warned.

“Then, it's a good thing I know how to fix this...” he said, almost airily.

Elizabeth raised a brow, interest piqued. “Well, then?” she demanded when he failed to elaborate.

“First, I must know what price you're willing to pay,” he said, foreboding.

She cocked her head to the side, unamused. “I already paid you – and a great waste of gold that was...”

“I'm not talking about something so pedestrian as _money_ ,” he scoffed. “This solution will require magic and, as we both know, my magic has a price.” A wicked smirk threatened to break out across his lips.

“Spit it out already!” she ordered.

“What if Emily – nay, _all_ of us – lived in a world where she wasn't the wife of a beast, but of another man, one of a more respectable sort?”

“And what world would that be?”

He couldn't hold back his smirk any longer. “One without magic...”

“And her husband?”

His smirk grew impossibly wide. “Give _me_ Emily's hand in marriage and I promise you that she won't remember Derek. In fact, she won't remember any of this. No one will but the two of us.”

In the next moment, his manacles were unlocked and he was collapsed into a heap of limbs on the cold stone floor.

“And what becomes of the beast?” Elizabeth asked and it was clear that he was winning her over.

“I'll make him suffer,” he said simply.

At last, he'd said something with which Elizabeth could agree. “What must we do?”

Ian stood, wincing at the pain rippling out from his stab wound as he did so. With a pass of his hand, blue sparks of magic flickering out to knit together the flesh, he healed himself. “Enact a dark curse,” he said, almost reverently. “It will require great sacrifice, though,” he warned. At her raised brow, he said, “The heart of the thing you love most. If, in fact, you do love anything other than yourself...”

“And how do I know I can trust you? You've already let me down once before,” she reminded him.

He waggled his brows lasciviously. “Because this time there's something in it for me – something more precious than gold.”

“What, pray tell, is that?”

“ _Suffering_ ,” he hissed. “I feed on it, I luxuriate in it, in the chaos of broken hearts beating for naught, in the wake of destruction. I _crave_ it like a redcap craves blood, like a nixie craves the thrashing of a young girl drowning. It enervates me, fills me with life. It is the single sweetest thing I can imagine...”


	30. Chapter 30

In spite of the fact that the inky darkness of night spilled out all around her, Emily drove with the headlights on the lowest setting, for fear of being spotted and ruining the element of surprise which may in fact, have been the only thing she had on her side at the moment...

The dirt road ahead of her could barely have been considered a road at all, as it appeared to have been roughly and hastily hewn through the forest. Her car shuddered and bounced along the road, spitting out a cloud of dust behind her.

Until a few hours ago, she hadn't even known this road existed, let alone the hunting cabin that sat at the end of it. She'd been married to Ian for over ten years and somehow he'd managed to keep his little bolthole a secret. (She supposed she shouldn't have been all that surprised that he kept secrets, considering the efforts he'd gone to to keep her from remembering her true identity...)

If Derek wasn't here, though, she had no other leads to where Ian had taken him and, truthfully, very little remaining hope...

In the not-too-far distance, she could see the faint glow of lights that she had to assume came from the cabin she sought. She pulled the car to a stop and cut the headlights, lest she alert Ian to her approach and give him the chance to escape. Turning off the engine, she sat in silence for a few moments, panic suddenly surging through her.

She had no idea what she was doing: no plan, no back-up, no help... She wasn't sure what she was thinking, only that she had to do _something_.

With a few fortifying breaths, she grabbed the gun she'd stolen from Ian' gun safe off the passenger seat and eased herself out of the car. Her footsteps crunched on the gravel of the road and she winced, praying to a God she wasn't sure she believed in that Ian hadn't heard.

She stashed the gun in the back of her jeans and eased off her shoes in the hope of making a quieter approach. As she got closer to the cabin, the sound of voices could be heard spilling out into the night, Ian's distinctive angry tone leaving no doubt that she was in the right place.

She flattened herself against the wall next to the window to eavesdrop for a few moments, awaiting the opportune moment to burst through the door in her haphazard rescue attempt.

Ian wasn't making much sense, rambling on about how Derek had ruined things...and, if it hadn't been for the new memories hovering just under the surface of her mind, she might have thought that he was well and truly unhinged. As it was, though, she knew he knew _exactly_ what he was talking about...

“I didn't want it to come to this...” Ian said, surprisingly calm, “I wanted you to watch from afar, to suffer, to live with the knowledge that I had the one thing you wanted most in the world. Unfortunately, though, you had to go and wake her. I'm afraid you leave me no choice, but to...”

She didn't wait to find out what the end of that sentence was, though. Slamming her shoulder into the door, she burst into the little cabin, gun at the ready. “Ian, let him go!” she demanded.

“Emily, Love, what a lovely surprise...” Ian said, deadpan. In the split second it took her to gain her bearings, he had Derek up off the floor, one arm wrapped around his neck, the other aiming his gun at Derek's temple.

“I'm not going to ask you again, Ian,” she insisted, aiming the gun as best she could. “Let Derek go.”

“I'm afraid I can't do that,” he replied. “Someone has to be to blame...”

She risked taking a few steps closer, gun trembling slightly in her hands. “Let him go and we won't tell anyone what you've done,” she promised.

“It's too late for that,” he said, “It's too late for _him_ – now that your memory is returning, I have no choice.”

“Yes, you do! No one has to die!”

He turned slightly, levelled the gun at her chest. “I'm not going to let the two of you ruin everything we've worked for!” he shouted, “There are no happy endings here! Not for you!”

Emily's gaze met Derek's briefly, the panic shining in his eyes clear as day. Silently, she tried to convey reassurance, but wasn't entirely sure it was believable, given the situation. “You're not making any sense, Ian... Let Derek go and we can talk about this. Just you and me. Together. Like we used to be... That's what you want, right? Me?”

“I'm _done_ talking,” he snapped, “I came here to end this and now that you're here, you're going to watch and you will _learn_ what happens when you stray from your narrative...”

“What narrative, Ian?” she asked, trying to keep him talking while she struggled to find a way to gain control of the quickly spiralling situation. “What are you talking about?”

He levelled his glare on her. “Don't pretend you don't know, Emily,” he scolded. “Don't pretend you haven't filed for divorce, don't act like you weren't planning to move on with _him_ the second it was finalized...”

“Ian,” she said firmly, “You held me _prisoner_ , for God's sake! And you expect me to just sit idly by and let you abuse me?” She scoffed, shook her head. “This has nothing to do with Derek and everything to do with _you_.”

“If this has nothing to do with him, then I suppose I no longer have any use for him...” Ian declared. He moved to aim the gun at Derek once again and, in the split seconds before he fired, Emily managed to loose a single shot, catching Ian in the gut, sending his aim wide, just enough that the bullet caught Derek in the shoulder, rather than the temple...


	31. Chapter 31

The hospital waiting room was crammed nearly to bursting with uncomfortable overstuffed chairs, in spite of the fact that Emily was the only one in the room. A pile of dated magazines sat in a stack on the little table next to her chair, but she didn’t have the wherewithal to focus on reading anything in that moment.

Mind a million miles away, her gaze was practically burning a hole in the faded powder blue wall across from her, at the yellowed and curling paper taped there pronouncing that abusive behaviour would not be tolerated. Anywhere but at her hands that were still stained with dried blood she hadn’t quite been able to scrub out of the ridges of her palm, the furrows of her nailbeds.

She wanted to pace, to move about, to burn off some of the frenetic energy still coursing through her veins, but her body felt like it was made of lead. Instead, she wrung her hands around the plastic water bottle she’d bought from the vending machine, the satisfying crunch of it giving way under the pressure of her grip breaking up the monotony of the droning air conditioning in the otherwise deathly silent chamber.

“Are you here for Derek Morgan?” a nurse asked, startling Emily out of her trance, not having heard her approach.

She wanted to gesture at the absence of the other people waiting and say something sarcastic, but couldn’t quite muster any response other than a weary nod. “Yes... Yes, I am,” she stammered. She wanted to ask if he was okay, but wasn’t sure she could handle the answer.

The nurse glanced down at the chart as if she needed a reminder of what she’d come to say. “Good news and bad news,” she explained, a look of apology on her face.

Emily sat in stunned silence, mouth hanging open slightly as the nurse explained that Derek was in a coma and they had no way of knowing if, or when, he would wake up. She wanted to say something, to do something, but she couldn’t even muster the strength to cry after the emotional turmoil of the day...and all the days that had come before, leading up to this point.

“Can... Can I see him?” she eventually managed to ask, feeling so numb in that moment that a house could fall on her and she’d barely even feel it.

...

Elizabeth flung the door open when whomever was at the doorbell wouldn’t stop ringing it. “ _What_?” she demanded before she saw the interloper. “Jesus Christ, Ian, what the hell happened to you?”

“Good to see you too,” he remarked dryly in the face of her astonishment. He pushed past her into the foyer.

Rolling her eyes, Elizabeth closed the door, followed after him to find that he’d already poured himself a drink. “You’re dripping blood all over my floor,” she pointed out.

As if suddenly remembering that he’d been shot, he glanced down at his wound, looking mildly perturbed. “Your bitch of a daughter fucking shot me,” he informed her. “You wouldn’t happen to have a first aide kit, would you?”

She arched a brow. “I thought Faeries could heal themselves?” she asked, spitting the word _faeries_ like it was an epithet.

“Not without magic,” he retorted as if it should be obvious. “And I used the last of _that_ to make a weapon to kill your beastie, only to have _Her_ ruin everything!”

“What happened?” she demanded, enunciating each word as if he were particularly slow.

He poured a second glass of liquor, tossed it back. “I had everything under control until she came bursting in and _shot_ me,” he snapped.

“So, you failed,” Elizabeth muttered, obviously displeased.

He grinned wickedly at that. “Don’t be so sure...”

...

It was approaching three AM and Emily hadn’t left Derek’s bedside for even a moment. In spite of the doctor’s warning that it was unlikely he’d wake any time soon, she wanted to believe otherwise, wanted to prove everyone wrong, prove that Derek was strong enough to pull through this.

She was struggling to stay awake, nodding off briefly before snapping back awake, when a knock on the door startled her. Fran was stepping into the room, looking rather trepidatious about encroaching on Emily’s grief.

“Here, dear,” she said gently, extending a to-go cup of coffee. “It’s from the nurses’ station,” she said by way of explanation, given that the little coffee shop in the lobby was closed. “It’s not _good_ coffee,” she said apologetically, “But it is _coffee_ and you look rather like you could use the pick-me-up...”

She offered a gently smile in thanks, taking the proffered cup and downing a hearty swig. She pulled a face at the bitterness and slight hint of burnt dregs.

Fran couldn’t help but laugh a little. “I warned you...”

“You didn’t have to do this,” Emily murmured, but gestured for her to sit nonetheless.

“You’ve been here all night,” Fran explained, “You must be exhausted – you should go home and get some sleep, take a shower...come back refreshed tomorrow. I’ll stay here with him and I promise to call you if anything changes.”

She shook her head before she’d even finished speaking. “I can’t,” she insisted. “I just can’t... It’s my fault that he’s here and I can’t leave him like this.”

Fran nodded, not bothering to argue with her logic, suspecting that Emily wasn’t one to be dissuaded once she had an idea in her mind. “Would you mind if I kept you company in that case?”

“Didn’t you just finish a shift?”

She nodded. “I’d like to stay,” she said, “I’ve been looking after him so long, he’s the closest thing I have to family... I’d really like to know he’s going to be okay.”

Emily offered a faint smile at that. “He’s a good guy,” she said, almost apropos of nothing, staring at his sleeping face, trying to ignore the purpling bruises painting his face and the patchwork of burns and scars across his torso. “He makes the people around him feel good...”


	32. Chapter 32

“Can I get you anything?” Gideon offered, already moving into the kitchen. “Tea?” he called over his shoulder, “I have a lovely licorice root blend that I think you’d enjoy...”

“No, you doddering old fool,” Elizabeth snapped, “We’re not here for tea and chit-chat!”

He reemerged with three steaming mugs of tea in spite of her barked demands. For a long time, he said nothing, painstakingly adding sugar to his tea and stirring it before settling back in his armchair, taking a long sip of the warm liquid, swallowing dramatically, then finally asking, “So, what is it you come here seeking, Your Majesty?”

“Magic,” she hissed, not bothering to beat around the bush with him, knowing full well that they both knew what was really at stake here.

He hummed a little note of interest, staring down into the tea as if it might reveal some long-hidden secret to him. “I’m afraid that’s not possible. You knew the price of your curse when you cast it: a land _without_ magic...” He glanced up at her then, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

Elizabeth positively glowered at him, looking very much like she’d love nothing more than to curse him in that moment if she were only able.

“Don’t fuck around, old man,” Ian barked. He’d never had patience for Gideon – in this world or the last – and his speaking in riddles and double meanings. “You and I both know you stashed some away for a rainy day. Now, hand it over and I won’t have to hurt you.”

Gideon laughed, though it remained to be seen what exactly was humorous. “I’m afraid I can’t do that,” he said, smirking behind his mug of tea.

“And why the hell not?” Elizabeth asked.

Apparently ignoring the question, he asked, “Tell me, is our _friend_ still in the library basement?”

Elizabeth arched one manicured brow. “What does _she_ have to do with this?”

His grin became impossibly wide...

...

Emily’s eyelids were impossibly heavy, her head a burden her neck could hardly bear. The chair beside Derek’s bed was inhumanely uncomfortable, but she’d twisted herself into an impossible position in it to await the moment of his awakening, no matter how long she had to wait there.

More than one nurse had come in and tried to coax her into leaving – citing first visiting hours, then concern for her well-being – and she’d resolutely ignored them all. And, given that, as far as most of the town knew, she was still the Sheriff’s wife, no one was all that keen on arguing with her, so they’d eventually given up and let her stay.

She wasn’t sure exactly how long she’d been sitting there, struggling to stay awake, but she was finally losing the battle. The book she’d been reading to him – _Slaughterhouse Five_ , of course – slipped from her loosening grip and landed on the floor with the delicate crunching of weathered pages against the linoleum.

She didn’t know how long she’d been asleep when something landed on her back, startling her back to wakefulness. Looking about to see who or what had disturbed her, she found Clara standing beside her, in the process of draping a blanket over her shoulders.

“Sorry,” the girl murmured, looking chagrined. “I just thought you looked cold – I didn’t want to wake you...”

She shook her head, trying to clear the muzziness that had settled there. “I didn’t hear you come in,” she mumbled.

She shrugged. “How’s he doing?” she asked, changing the subject.

She glanced down at Derek, sighing wistfully. “The same as before,” she answered, “The doctors keep insisting there’s nothing stopping him from waking up, but...” She shrugged. There was nothing left to say that his unconsciousness didn’t already say.

“Can he hear us?” she asked, almost apropos of nothing.

She nodded. “They say he can...though, they might have just said that to make me feel better.

Clara’s smile was weak in response. “I’m sure that if you just keep talking to him, he’ll realize that there’s something wonderful waiting here for him. I’m certain of it.”

Emily nodded as if she’d like to believe that, but said nothing.

“You’ve been here kind of a long time,” she said slowly, as if afraid of her reaction, “Maybe you should go home and get some rest, you look exhausted...”

“No,” Emily cut her off almost immediately. “I’m going to stay. It’s my fault that he’s here...” She blinked back the threat of oncoming tears she refused to shed in front of an audience.

“Emily,” Clara said gently, but firmly. “You need to rest. You’re going to work yourself to a nervous breakdown and then you won’t be any good to Derek or anyone else. Penelope is going to be here in a minute, at least come with me to get a proper meal, okay?”

She pursed her lips, thought on that for a few moments. “Fine,” she eventually relented. “Just a quick dinner, then I want to come right back.”

Clara didn’t have the chance to protest that before Penelope burst into the room. “The fun has arrived!” she announced her presence in a sing-song voice.

Though she seemed reluctant to do so, Emily stood from her chair, stretched. “Thanks for doing this, Pen,” she murmured, squeezing the other woman’s shoulder. “I won’t be gone long, but if anything changes...”

“You’ll be the first to know,” she confirmed. “No, shoo. Only Derek can hear what’s going to appear in tomorrow’s headlines.”

Emily reached down to squeeze Derek’s hand, her gaze on his lifeless face. She looked like she wanted to say something to him, but couldn’t muster the words in front of an audience.

Inexplicably, Clara felt the urge to say something to him. But like Emily, she couldn’t have find the words. Instead, she bent down to press a gentle kiss to his forehead.

There was a sudden and powerful burst of energy that rippled through the room, nearly knocking the three women off their feet.

Derek’s eyes flew open.


	33. Chapter 33

“What _exactly_ are we supposed to find in this basement?” Ian demanded of Elizabeth as he smashed the library window and reached through the shards to unlock the door.

“An old friend,” Elizabeth repeated unhelpfully, waiting for him to hold the door open for her to pass through it.

He rolled his eyes, but did so anyway. “Why do I doubt this so-called _friend_ is going to be at all eager to see us?” he asked pointedly.

“Perhaps the sword gave it away,” she replied, just as pointedly. She crossed the main room of the library to the rickety old-fashioned elevator, pulling back the doors which groaned in protest after decades of disuse.

“Which brings me back to my original question: _what_ is in the basement?” he repeated.

She just shook her head without answering, what looked a lot like a wicked grin threatening to break out across her red painted lips.

...

As Derek gasped for air, eyes wide and stunned at his sudden waking, everyone else seemed to stop breathing as one.

Emily clapped a hand over her mouth, tears springing to her eyes as she let out a shaky half sob/half laugh. “Oh my God...” she breathed.

Silently, Penelope shooed Clara from the room, shutting the door behind them to give the two reunited lovers some privacy.

“Oh my God, Derek...” she repeated. “It’s you – it’s really _you_!” Then, before he could say anything in response, she flung herself at him, wrapping him in a tender embrace for the first time in eighteen years.

For a moment, he didn’t move, didn’t respond to her embrace, mind reeling as years of memories came flooding back all at once. But eventually, shaky hands came to rest on her back, gentle and timid at first, then tighter and tighter until she could barely breathe for the embrace.

“Emily...” he rasped, “Emily, my love. My Princess.”

She laughed softly. “You remember...”

“I don’t know how I could ever have forgotten my love for you,” he lamented. “I lost eighteen years with you...”

“What’s eighteen years when you have eternal love?” she asked, pulling back so she could look him in the eye. A soft smile played about her lips as she looked at him – _really_ looked – before she leaned in to kiss him, the touch of her lips on his so familiar, so right, it was like the missing part of her had finally fallen back into place.

...

Muttering to himself, Ian braced himself with one hand on the wall of the elevator as it shuddered and clunked its way into the basement. He’d been none too keen to trust Elizabeth to stay above to operate the elevator, but he hadn’t had all that much choice.

With a heavy metallic clank, the elevator hit bottom and the doors swung open on rusty hinges as he pushed on them. What he found was an impossibly large rocky cavern – completely at odds with the building that sat above it.

“Hello?” he called out into the cavern, his voice echoing through the space.

He was starting to suspect that this had all been some elaborate scheme to trap him down here when the ground beneath him trembled and he nearly lost his balance. He reached out to grab onto a nearby stone pillar to keep himself upright as the ground seemed to roil and heave with the movement of something impossibly large approaching.

“What the _fuck_?” he whispered to himself as one massive paw came into view, followed by a second, then finally a pink nose, mere feet away from him.

He emerged from behind the pillar to see what was unmistakably a Sphinx blinking down at him with neon green eyes.

The beast licked its chops as it eyed him, obviously thinking of making him a meal. “A tasty mousy...” the Sphinx declared, using one claw to pick something out of its teeth. “Been so long since I’ve had _fast_ food.” She laughed to herself at the joke, a deep rumbling sound that echoed through the chamber.

“Elizabeth sends her regards,” he announced before she could get any ideas.

She hissed at that, eyes narrowing with displeasure.

Realizing that, perhaps, it had been the wrong move to mention the beast’s captor, he changed tack, declaring, “I propose a game...”

“A game?” she repeated, obviously irritated.

“A game,” he repeated. “A riddle – if you win, you get lunch. If I win, however, you owe me a favour.”

The Sphinx mashed her lips together, mulling the proposition over before rolling her glowing eyes. “ _Four_ riddles,” she amended. “Since you’re a friend of a _friend_.”

Huffing, annoyed, he conceded. “Four it is.”

A wicked grin crossed her lips and she lay down, crossing one forepaw over the other. “ _I’m offered to the loved and also to the dead. I come in many varied hues, most notably red. My pricks are known to pierce the skin, often resulting in wounds that bled. What am I?_ ”

“A rose,” he answered with barely a moment’s hesitation. Of course the answer would have something to do with the _Beast_...

“ _You measure my life in hours and I serve you by expiring. I’m quick when I’m thin and slow when I’m fat. The wind is my enemy,_ ” the Sphinx recited. She seemed almost bored with the game, her claws drumming a rhythm on the stone floor.

Ian had to think for a moment on that one, running through his wife’s story in his mind. Finally, he landed on the answer, “A candle.”

“ _My spine stiff. My body pale. I’m always ready to tell a tale..._ ”

He chuckled, smirked, entirely too cocky. “A book.” He hadn’t expected to win quite so easily, but perhaps almost two decades of being locked away from any prey had made the Sphinx slow-witted...

She grinned then, as if things were going exactly the way she’d anticipated. “ _I am free, yet priceless. You can’t own me, but you can use me. You can’t keep me, but you can spend me. Once you’ve lost me, you can never have me back. What am I?_ ”

He opened his mouth to answer, then faltered, uncertain.

The Sphinx was examining her claws with decided interest, humming to herself.

The tune struck some chord of familiarity deep inside his mind and he followed the thread for a few moments until he landed on the answer. “Time!” he announced, entirely too pleased with himself.


	34. Chapter 34

The Sphinx howled with rage.

Smug in his victory, Ian smirked. “I believe you owe me a favour...”

The Sphinx’s lips curled back in a snarl, revealing a row of blindingly white pointed teeth. “No, I don’t think I do.”

He raised a brow. “That was the _agreement_ ,” he replied, decidedly unamused with the sudden reluctance to play fair.

“Yes, well, you see... The problem with that is that I don’t _feel_ like abiding by any so-called _agreement_.” And, with that, she lunged forward at him, startling him and sending him stumbling off balance as he toppled backwards and scrabbled away on his hands and knees.

...

Emily was used to people doing what she asked – afterall, she’d been the Sheriff’s wife and people widely regarded him (and therefore her) with a fair amount of fear. She wasn’t, however, used to people doing what she asked out of reverence...as royal subjects to their Queen.

As she moved through the halls of the hospital towards Derek’s room, no one made any move to stop her, in spite of the fact that visiting hours had long since been over. In fact, many of the nurses went out of their way to _curtsy_ to her...

She supposed this would take some getting used to. Again.

She slipped into Derek’s room through the slight crack in the door, trying not to wake him. Afterall, he had just woken from a coma and he needed time to properly recover...even if he stubbornly insisted he was fine. Which, if her new memories served, was nothing at all out of character for him...

Instead, she found him sitting up in bed, wide awake and leafing through an ornately embossed leather-bound book. He didn’t seem to hear her enter, focused as he was on whatever the book was about.

She rolled her eyes. “Good morning,” she said pointedly, given the fact that it was after midnight and he really should have been asleep.

If he knew she was annoyed, he didn’t show it. “Morning,” he agreed, grinning foolishly. He gestured for her to come closer and, when she obeyed, he pulled her in for a kiss.

When she pulled back, she shook her head as if in frustration, but was quite obviously trying hard not to let a grin cross her lips. “How do you feel?” she asked.

“As if I’d spent the last eighteen years in fog...” She nodded her agreement, looked as if she were about to say something, but he wasn’t finished talking yet. “Guilty,” he added, softer, ashamed.

“Why?” she asked, face soft as she reached out to stroke his cheek. “You have nothing to feel guilty for...”

“I forgot how much I love you,” he answered, just as soft.

A tender smile tugged at the corners of her lips then. “That wasn’t your fault,” she assured him. Her cheeks were a faint shade of pink at his admission, the way they always were when he said he loved her. Her gaze darted away from his briefly, landing on the book sitting open on his lap. “Where did you get that?” she asked, realizing she hadn’t seen it before.

He held it up so she could see the cover: _Beauty and the Beast_. “Clara stopped by and left it,” he said with a shrug.

The name hit her like a punch to the chest. “Clara...” she breathed. “My baby girl...”

He reached over, squeezed her hand where it was hanging listlessly at her side. “We’ll find her. Talk to her,” he assured her. “Tell her how much we love her.”

Her tongue flicked out over her bottom lip the way she tended to do when she was deep in thought. “We lost eighteen years of her life...” she whispered, let out a shaky breath. “My mother _took_ that from us.” Her eyes narrowed, gaze hardened. “I’ll make her pay...”

“No,” he said urgently, squeezing her hand tighter to make her look at him. “That’s not who you are, Emily.”

“Not who I am!?” she repeated incredulously. “How can you not be outraged? How can you not be absolutely livid? How can you not want to make her feel every bit of that pain that she caused us?”

He gave her a small sad smile. “Because I remember the gentle soul of the woman I fell in love with – the woman whose good heart changed my hardened one. We may have lost eighteen years, but we have the rest of her life to make up for that.”

...

Ian emerged from the elevator much dishevelled and covered in blood, dragging his sword along the ground by his side. In his other hand, he clutched a glass vial.

Elizabeth raised a brow at his appearance, but he appeared to be in no mood to discuss the matter, at least, not with her. Not that she was really all that concerned either way. “Well, did you get it?” she demanded when he remained silent.

He shook the little glass vial, a glowing red liquid sloshing around inside. “No thanks to you,” he muttered under his breath.

“Excuse me?” she asked, voice devoid of all emotion, the way she got just before she verbally eviscerated someone.

“You could have fucking _warned_ me!” he snapped. “That _thing_ almost made a meal of me! You’re lucky I don’t run you through with this sword as well...”

Elizabeth rolled her eyes at his histrionics. “Much as you like to think you’re the brains of this operation, you wouldn’t last ten minutes without me...” she scoffed.

The sword clattered to the floor as he whirled around, slamming her into the wall, forearm pressing into her neck. “Listen here, bitch,” he growled, “I’ve put up with you thus far because we have mutual goals, but once magic is here, I can’t promise to protect you from everything that’s coming your way...”

If she’d had her magic, she would have incinerated him on the spot and they both knew it...as it was, though, she simply stared daggers at him as she pushed him off. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Doyle...” she warned him.


	35. Chapter 35

“Babe...” Derek said in a gentle reprimand, even as he wrapped his arms around her waist from behind. He nuzzled into her neck, pressed a kiss there, pulling her away from the table to prevent her from rearranging once again the perfectly arranged table settings. “It’s perfect,” he insisted. “And I really don’t think Clara is going to care if the vase is perfectly centred in the middle of the table. Tonight is about us getting to know our daughter, remember?”

She nodded, but pouted anyway because she _wanted_ to make everything look perfect...given that it was the one thing she felt like she _could_ control right now.

Derek spun her around as if they were dancing, pulled her back into his chest so that they were now facing each other. “So, what did you order for us at the diner?” he asked, changing the subject. Between her lack of cooking skills and the fact that he’d been released from the hospital mere hours before, they hadn’t exactly had time to prepare a gourmet meal themselves.

She looked slightly embarrassed then, as she may have gone a little overboard. “Pretty much everything she orders most,” she admitted. “I don’t know what her favourite food is yet, but I figured they were all safe bets.”

He smiled softly down at her, reaching to stroke her cheek with the back of his knuckles, still getting used to the fact that he could once again hold her, touch her, kiss her...

“What?” she asked, brow raised at the almost awe-struck expression on his face.

“You’re such a wonderful mother,” he murmured. Then, as if reading her mind, he added, “Don’t ever doubt that, okay?”

Her cheeks pinked at the compliment, even if she wasn’t entirely certain she believed him, given the fact that she had literally just remembered she was, in fact, a mother...

Then, in an attempt at levity, he added, “I hope JJ gave you a discount, you know, since we’re family now...”

That, apparently, was the wrong thing to say, judging by the way Emily’s face fell. “I missed her wedding,” she whispered. “I wasn’t there for her that day. You didn’t get to walk her down the aisle. She was all alone...”

“Shhh, Em,” he soothed, stroking her hair. “You know I would have given anything to be there for her, but if she’s happy, isn’t that really what matters most?”

She pouted, reluctant to admit that he was right. Any response she might’ve given was interrupted by the doorbell and the panic that clearly ensued, washing across her face like a wave. “She’s here,” she said breathlessly, “Our baby...”

“Princess, she’s eighteen and married. I kind of doubt she still wants to be considered a baby,” he pointed out.

She gave him a pointed look. “She may not _literally_ be a baby, but she will always _always_ be my baby. _Our_ baby.”

He held up his hands in surrender, then moved to open the door. He’d barely opened it when Emily flung herself at Clara, wrapping her in the tightest embrace she could manage, holding her as if her life depended on it.

Clara struggled to get a breath out, let alone any words, amidst the bone-crushing hug her long-lost mother was currently giving her. But she couldn’t help but smile at the open affection she’d sought for so long, even if she couldn't yet voice it.

Then, as if suddenly remembering herself, Emily released the girl just as quickly, took several stutter steps backwards. Smiling shyly, she murmured a more muted greeting, “Clara, hi...”

Several long and perhaps awkward moments of silence followed, neither parent quite sure how their daughter was going to react.

She ended up surprising them both, then, when a wide smile crossed her lips. “Mom...” she rasped, voice choked by tears, “Dad...” She cautiously wrapped her arms around him, then Emily again. “I can’t believe I’ve finally found you.”

...

They had barely gotten three bites into their dinner when Emily could contain herself no longer. “Clara, Sweetheart, there’s something I... _We_ want you to know. We love you _so_ much and we would have done anything to save you and that’s... That’s why we had no choice but to...”

“No, Mom, wait,” Clara interrupted. “There’s something I want to say first.” She paused, gaze darting down to her hands where she was nervously wringing them under the table. “Growing up, I always knew I was adopted and there were times where I couldn’t help but wonder why my real parents didn’t want me... There were times that I hated you for abandoning me – I wondered what was so wrong with me that even my parents couldn’t love me.”

Derek, unable to watch her words breaking Emily’s heart any longer, burst out, “Sweetheart, no...”

She continued on, in spite of his assurances, “When I heart about the Curse, I felt so _stupid_ for ever thinking you didn’t love me and I... I’m so sorry!” Tears welled in her eyes at that.

“Don’t say that,” Emily choked out, in tears as well. She reached over to squeeze Clara’s hand in silent reassurance.

“I know that you must have loved me so much to do what you did,” she said, sniffling. “I know you didn’t have a choice...”

Derek nodded, clearing his throat to keep from breaking down himself. “Clara, if there had been _any_ way to protect you without being apart, we would have done it. You have no idea how much we struggled with this decision, but we knew that one day we would meet again.”

Clara’s smile was watery as she looked first at Emily, then at him. “I know,” she confirmed. “I get it now. But at least there’s a good side to all this: I never would have met Henry...”

“Well, that’s not quite true,” Emily said before she could stop to think about what she was going to say.

Clara raised a brow. “What do you mean?”

“Henry is from our world...”


	36. Chapter 36

Clara came storming into the little coffee shop where Henry was reuniting with his own parents. “You _lied_ to me!” she shouted, slamming the door behind her, the little bells over top jangling fiercely with her aggression. “How could you not tell me!?”

The only three people in the cafe looked up sharply at Clara’s violent entrance. JJ and Will glanced from her to Henry, then to each other, obviously confused and concerned by the anger clearly burning in her eyes.

Henry nearly stumbled over himself to stand up and reach her. He extended his hands as if to clasp hers, but she moved them out of his reach before he could. “Clara what... What are you doing here?” His tone was soft and placating, but it seemed to be having no effect on Clara’s fury.

“I’m here so you can explain yourself!” she snapped. “What the _fuck_ , Henry!?”

“Clara,” he said slowly, calmly, “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about you _lying_ to me! About everything!”

JJ and Will had joined them then. JJ rested a gentle hand on Henry’s shoulder, looking from her son to his wife in concern and confusion. “Henry, what’s going on?” she asked.

He shook his head, not understanding either.

“You’re one of them!” she seethed. “You’ve been using me this whole time to break the curse!”

Henry’s face blanched. “Clara, _no_ ,” he insisted urgently. “That’s not what this was, I swear...”

“Then what _was_ it?” she demanded. “Because from where I stand, it looks like our whole relationship has been a lie.”

...

For a few moments, Henry stood in the doorway to the little dance studio, just watching in silence as Clara danced – _Sleeping Beauty_ ’s Rose Adagio – face a perfect mask of concentration, so that she failed to notice his presence.

It was a notoriously difficult piece of choreography, but she danced it flawlessly, like she’d done it a thousand times before. Like she was born to dance the role.

He’d always loved watching her dance, ever since they’d been kids taking their first ballet classes together. Something about her presence on stage was breath-takingly awe-inspiring and he was helpless but to watch.

She spun to a stop as the CD player skipped. With an irritated sigh, she moved to fix it, but startled when she saw Henry standing there. “Oh, it’s you...” she remarked dryly once the immediate alarm subsided.

He didn’t want to fight, though, ignoring the barb and letting it fall uselessly into silence. Wordlessly, he crossed the room in his sock feet and started flipping through the stack of CDs sitting beside the player.

“What are you doing?” Clara asked with a frown. She was still very much annoyed with him and wasn’t all that appreciative of him just showing up and interrupting her time to think, to process the revelation that had turned her world on its head.

He didn’t answer, simply replacing the _Sleeping Beauty_ CD with a new one and pressing play. As he rose, the lilting notes of the Sugar Plum Fairy and the Cavalier’s pas de deux filled the studio.

“What...” Clara started to ask, trailing off as he bowed to her, offered his hand, waiting to see if she understood, if she accepted his offer of a dance.

Seemingly powerless to resist, she reached for his hand, rose onto pointe, moving with the flow of the music. For several counts, they simply danced, revelling in the familiarity of the choreography. They’d danced this particular pas de deux so many times it was practically second nature by now, moving almost as one, as extensions of the other...like they’d never so much as danced a step apart.

Henry was the first to break the spell with a gentle murmur of, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the truth...”

At first, he wasn’t sure Clara was going to answer. At length, though, she replied, “How could you not tell me? I’m your _wife –_ I thought we were supposed to tell each other everything.”

He sighed, wishing he had a better answer, but answering nonetheless, “I didn’t think you’d believe me.”

She opened her mouth as if to reply, but didn’t seem to have a good response because, honestly...if he’d told her a few weeks ago that they’d break down in a small middle-of-nowhere town and wind up breaking a curse that was keeping a bunch of fairytale characters from remembering their true identities, she would have laughed him right out of the apartment... “You could have told me anyway...” she said softly, almost meekly.

“I know,” he agreed. And he had _wanted_ to tell her, but there were some things that could only be learned by having lived them. “I guess it was just easier to say nothing than to get my hopes up that one day I’d see my parents again.”

Once again, she couldn’t seem to form a response. “Who are they?” she asked at length, curiosity suddenly getting the best of her.

“Cinderella and her Prince,” he replied. A beat. Then, he burst out laughing, realizing just how ridiculous that sounded to someone who had lived in this world for their entire life.

“Does that make you a Prince too?” she asked with a little smirk, biting down on her own laughter.

He rolled his eyes, retorted, “I guess so, _Princess_...”

She rolled her eyes right back, before her expression suddenly saddened. “Do you love me?” she asked in a whisper.

“Of course I do!” he insisted vehemently. He stopped in the middle of the choreography, resting a hand on Clara’s cheek to force her to meet his eyes. “Clara, I love you with my whole heart. I wouldn’t have married you if I didn’t. I know this is all a lot to take in right now, but you’re my best friend and my wife and we _will_ get through this. From now on, I promise not to keep any secrets, okay?”

“Okay,” she murmured, blinking back tears that she couldn’t quite explain.


	37. Chapter 37

“Mom, can you _please_ just tell me where we’re going?” Clara whined as Emily dragged her along the streets of Storybrooke by her hand. When Emily had shown up at Clara and Henry’s hotel room that morning, she’d practically been vibrating with excited energy, though she refused to say why, merely insisting that Clara get dressed and come with her.

“Not yet,” Emily insisted, grinning entirely too widely to be innocent. “I told you, it’s a surprise.”

“Just a clue?” she wheedled. She batted her lashes in her best approximation of puppy dog eyes. “Please?”

Emily just shook her head. “Nice try, but I _invented_ that look. It might work on Henry – and your father – but I’m immune.”

Clara pouted. “Fine,” she muttered. She didn’t get the chance to whine further, though, because Emily had come to a stop outside a gleaming shop window filled with gorgeous handmade dresses in a rainbow of hues. Clara glanced from the window to Emily, then back. “This is the surprise?” she asked skeptically.

“Not quite,” she said, pushing the door open even though the sign said that it was closed. “Beth?” she called out to the empty shop.

A brunette emerged from the back of the shop wearing a brilliant smile and a sweet little red polka-dotted dress reminiscent of something right out of the fifties. She wrapped Emily in an embrace, then turned to Clara. “Oh, Em, she’s beautiful,” she declared, looking her up and down. “She looks just like Derek’s mother.”

Blushing slightly at the compliment, Clara shook Beth’s proffered hand.

“Do you have the design?” Emily asked, apparently too eager to wait even a moment longer.

“Design for what?” Clara asked, confused, watching as Beth flipped through her sketchbook.

Emily’s grin lit up her face. “For your wedding gown.”

Clara raised a brow, confused. “Wedding gown?” she repeated. “Mom, I’m already married...”

“You’re married in this world, but things are a little different in ours,” she said gently. “You’re the granddaughter of the King – in order to take the throne one day, you have to do things properly. You and Henry must be introduced as husband and wife in front of the Kingdom.” She attempted a consoling smile. “Not to mention that you deserve a wedding dress that isn’t cursed.”

Clara groaned. “No more curses please...”

Emily laughed a little nervously. “I think once you see the design Beth and I came up with, you’ll feel differently.”

Beth handed Clara the sketchbook where she’d drawn up the design – a beautiful ivory gown with a full skirt and drop sleeves. Golden details adorned the bodice, reminiscent of Emily’s ballgown worn the night Derek had first admitted his love for her.

“This... This is gorgeous,” she whispered. She smiled gently first at Beth, then her mother. “I can’t begin to tell you how much I appreciate you doing this for me.”

“But?” Emily prompted, reading between the lines.

She sighed softly. “As beautiful as it is... Mom, I’m a ballerina. I dress like a princess for a living. I really don’t need a gown like this.”

Emily gently stroked Clara’s hair away from her face. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, I wish I could give you what you want, but I just can’t...”

Clara raised a brow. “Why not?”

“Because that’s just not how things work. You need to be presented, to be crowned as Princess. You need a public wedding. It’s the same for Henry.”

“But...”

“I know, Clara, I know. This is all new to you, but it’s... _tradition_. I wasn’t a big fan of it either when I was young, but it’s what you must do if you want to take the throne. I was just a simple country girl when I met your father and to rule by his side, I had to go through all the same things as you do.”

Clara shook her head adamantly, seemingly struggling to keep her temper in check. “Yes, but you grew up in a different world than I did. You know all these rules and unspoken social conventions and I just _don’t_. We had completely different lives and I’m not sure I’ll ever truly belong here.”

“You _will_ ,” Emily insisted. “It’s just going to take some time to get used to. You’ll figure it out – I’ll help you and Henry will too and...”

“Maybe I don’t want to...” Clara whispered, barely audible at all.

Emily couldn’t have looked more stunned if Clara had physically slapped her. For a few moments, she stood there, blinking numbly. Then, she stammered, “I... I think I need some fresh air. Excuse me.” With that, she hurried from the shop, the little bell tinkling merrily at her departure.

“Mom...” Clara said, moving to follow her.

She didn’t get very far, though, before Beth wrapped her fingers around her wrist, halting her movement.

“Let’s give her a few minutes alone,” she suggested gently.

Clara sighed heavily, staring down at the floor where she was scuffing the toe of her sneaker. “I finally find my parents and the first thing I do is break their hearts,” she said, more to herself than to Beth. “Some daughter I am...”

“Parents are a funny thing,” Beth said anyway. “They always want what’s best for you, even if sometimes their opinion of what’s best is a little different. They do it out of love. And if there’s one thing I know for certain, it’s that your parents love you _so_ much – maybe more than any parent has ever loved their child...” She gently stroked a hand up and down Clara’s back in a comforting gesture.

Clara chewed at her lip in thought. “So, you think I was too harsh on her?” she asked.

“That’s not my place,” she said. “Besides, I don’t think I’m qualified to talk about the parent/child relationship, given my history with my step-mother...”

Clara’s brows leapt up her forehead and she studied Beth for a few moments. “You’re Snow White, aren’t you?” she accused. “Is everyone here some kind of Princess?”

Beth laughed a little. “You’ll get used to that...”


	38. Chapter 38

Henry had never ridden a horse before...and he wasn’t all that sure he was enjoying it now. His horse seemed just as unsure about him as he was of it – and Henry wasn’t entirely convinced it wasn’t about to buck him off at any moment.

Truthfully, this hadn’t been his idea. When Derek had suggested they go on a little adventure, just the two of them, he’d rather balked at the idea. For a variety of reasons. But Clara had convinced him that he needed to get to know his father-in-law – and, when he’d still seemed unconvinced, she’d used the puppy dog eyes and begged him to do it _for_ _her_ and damn if that didn’t work every single time...

Holding onto the reins for dear life, he attempted to make his horse follow Derek’s. It had other ideas, though, stopped to munch on some grass, blatantly ignoring Henry’s commands. He watched as Derek’s horse trotted at an easy-going pace ahead of him before he drew to a halt at the peak of the hill overlooking the town below.

Derek glanced over his shoulder and, seeing Henry struggling to command his horse, made a clicking noise with his tongue, instantly having the horse’s attention. The horse trotted up beside his and came to an easy stop (even as Henry mentally calculated how long it would take him to walk back as opposed to riding...).

There was silence for a long time but for the soft nickering of the horses and the hum of crickets in the grass. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves in the nearby trees. Below them, lights of the sparse traffic flickered along the streets and you could almost – _almost –_ forget just how strange a town it was...

Derek was the first one to break the quiet of the early evening, his voice low but somehow intimidating all the same, “Clara tells me that the two of you tell each other everything...”

“Pretty much since the day we met,” Henry rushed to answer. “She’s my best friend.”

He nodded once. “Friendship is the basis for the best of marriages,” he said sagely.

If Henry were more of a smart ass, he might’ve replied, ‘How about hostage situations?’, in reference to how Derek and Emily had met. As it was, though, he was far too terrified of his father-in-law to even think that.

“Is this about the misunderstanding between Clara and I about our world?” Henry asked after an extended silence. “Because I already explained it to Clara and...”

“Relax, Henry,” Derek said, “This isn’t an interrogation – just a friendly chat between family...”

Henry would have liked to be reassured by those words, but as much as he liked Derek, he was very much terrified of the man. Afterall, he would one day be King and could order the removal of his head if it so pleased him...

“Since you bring it up, though...” Derek started after another long silence.

Henry winced.

“From what Clara tells me, she seems very happy with you,” Derek said slowly. “And, of course, I’m glad to hear it...”

“But?” Henry asked, hearing the obvious objection behind the words.

“ _But_...if I ever find out that my baby girl is in any way unhappy because of you, I won’t hesitate to bring the full force of the Kingdom’s fury raining down upon you.”

Henry couldn’t help the bout of nervous laughter that erupted at the threat.

Apparently mistaking the laughter for something else, Derek glowered at him. “Make no mistake Henry, if I have to ask Emily’s mother for help, I _will_ ruin your life if you so much as raise a hand to my daughter... Do I make myself clear?”

He nodded insistently. “Crystal clear,” he assured.

...

“Where are we going?” Elizabeth demanded as she struggled for breath. When Ian had said it was a ‘short walk’ to where they were headed, she should have known that he was underselling it.

“To the one place in town that accesses our world,” Ian replied with purposeful vagueness. Afterall, they didn’t trust each other or even really like each other, their alliance an uneasy one forged by necessity and a common enemy rather than any actual amity.

Elizabeth glowered at the back of his head as he hiked along ahead of her. He never looked back to see if she was keeping up, not that she had anticipated he would...now that he didn’t have to maintain any facade of kindness to keep Emily in the dark, he wasn’t afraid to show his true colours.

“And where might this nexus be?” she persisted. She stumbled, the heel of her designer stilettos sinking into the soft ground and getting stuck there. She let out an irritated huff, pausing to yank her shoe out of the dirt.

From further up the incline, Ian stopped and turned, calling back to her, “Ever heard of the Wishing Well?”

She raised a brow, obviously underwhelmed. “The Wishing Well?” she repeated skeptically.

“They say its waters have the power to return something once lost...” he explained. “Sound familiar?”

She rolled her eyes. “Even if that _were_ true in the Enchanted Forest,” she challenged, gesturing at him with the shoe in her hand, “This land has no magic, might I remind you... That’s the reason we’re on this god-forsaken trek in the first damn place!”

“Do you think me a stupid man?” he asked. “Do you think I’d be wasting my time if this were all some superstition?”

“I think you’re a damned fool,” she said with false sweetness. “But even a broken clock is right twice a day...”

“And you’re an old bitch,” he snarled. “You’re lucky I have a use for you or I’d rend your head from your shoulders where you stand.”

She stared daggers at him and there was little doubt that, if she’d had any magic remaining, she would have used it to set him on ablaze for the sheer pleasure of watching him burn. “You would never live to tell the tale of having tried,” she hissed.


	39. Chapter 39

“So...” JJ started with a mischievous smirk, “How long before we can start expecting grandkids from you two?” She said it conversationally, even as she raised an inquiring brow.

Clara nearly choked on her sip of water, coughing and sputtering at the sudden prying.

“ _Mom_!” Henry hissed, cheeks going bright red with embarrassment.

“What?” she asked, seeming genuinely mystified by his mortification. She held up her hands in self-defence.

“We’ve barely been married a week, you can’t ask about grandkids already!” he insisted. He chanced a side-long glance at Clara as if to check whether she’d run off in alarm (she hadn’t, though she did appear to be very seriously considering it...).

JJ shrugged as if the matter were out of her hands, ignoring Will’s sidelong glance, silently encouraging her to stop pressing the matter. “In the Enchanted Forest, you would be expecting already...”

Henry heaved a sigh, perhaps a tad irritated. “Yes, well, we’re not in the Enchanted Forest, are we?”

“Well, not for long,” Will chimed in, “But I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before we’re all transported back now that the Curse has been broken...”

Henry and Clara shared a look of what might’ve been disbelief, but said nothing.

Emily, seeming to sense their hesitation, attempted to change the subject. “I suppose the two of you will want to start apartment hunting now? I don’t imagine the Inn is all that comfortable... You’re welcome to stay with Derek and I for now; his – I mean, _our_ – place is big enough that it won’t be crowded.”

“Oh... Umm...” Clara stammered, suddenly picking her nails under the table, just like her mother. “We hadn’t really talked about it. I mean, we were just supposed to stay overnight and now...” She gave a small hysterical laugh. “Things kind of fucked our plans sideways.”

The four adults didn’t seem to know what to make of that statement, but fortunately were saved the matter of navigating that conversational minefield by hollers from the street outside the diner. Instantly, everyone was on their feet so they could peer out the wide bay window.

People were running down the street, screaming in fear. It looked like the scene in every superhero movie as the villain paraded down Main Street, wantonly destroying anyone who so much as looked at him.

“What the fuck is going on?” Clara asked, more to herself than to anyone else. No one seemed to have the answer anyway.

There was a thunder-like crackle across the sky, though there was no lightening accompanying it. A deep purple cloud billowed into view then, spilling out from the boundary of the nearby forest. It engulfed everything in its path, obscuring it from view.

“Is that...?” Derek asked, the scene all too familiar...

Emily’s face was grim as she nodded. “Magic,” she finished his sentence. A tremor raced down her spine, flashing back to the night Clara had been taken from her as a very similar cloud of magic swallowed up the world as she knew it.

“But how?” Will asked.

Emily shook her head. She had no idea how, but was fairly certain of the _who_ : her mother...


End file.
